


No Force on Earth

by OneMorePage, Wordsaremagick



Series: The Reason for My Song [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Babies, Crime, Crime Scene Description, Demons and Angels, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Here; have some smut, Male vs Female Violence, Mystery and murder, Original Characters - Freeform, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious lore, Sexual Humor, Smut, Violence, and did we mention sex?, and fluff, and lots of sexual content, celestials, crazy people, depictions of violence, relationships, sequels, smut with feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:49:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22727176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneMorePage/pseuds/OneMorePage, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsaremagick/pseuds/Wordsaremagick
Summary: Sequel to "It's All Part of His Plan".I'd like to say you don't have to read the first very, very long first installment, but this will sure make more sense if you do!Faced with Chloe's death, Lucifer made a deal with his Dad at Heaven's gates.  But the devil is in the details...
Relationships: Amenadiel & Linda Martin (Lucifer TV), Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Dan Espinoza & Ella Lopez, Eve/Mazikeen (Lucifer TV)
Series: The Reason for My Song [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634251
Comments: 223
Kudos: 267





	1. Aftermath

The brutal carnage that had taken place here left little evidence behind. The Lightbringer’s evisceration of all demonic beings had left nothing but shadows burnt into the stone where they once defiantly stood against their King. Had it not been for the remnants of weaponry and primitive armor betraying the bloodshed of the ill-fated uprising, it would have been nearly impossible to discern the mutiny that had taken place. 

Maze shoved, not at all gently, the man covering her. “Get. OFF,” she commanded imperiously. Hesitatingly, Azazel rolled to the side, his gray and black wings lowering cautiously, though he remained kneeling protectively. Once he’d ascertained the wrath of the King of Hell had passed, he staggered to his feet. Amenadiel joined the pair among the ash and charred remains of rock.

“Are you okay?” Azazel asked Maze. Her only answer was a look of disgust, as if to say she was offended he would even assume she wasn’t. With clear antipathy, she dismissed both his act to shield her and his tone of concern. Wiping her blades clean, she busied herself sliding the spelled steel into their sheaths. 

Adopting the neutral expression he generally displayed, Azazel kept his reply to himself, neatly outmaneuvering her prickly nature. To react was to feed her rejection, and his strengths lay in patience and strategy, not reckless passion. He’d once succumbed to it and followed his hot-blooded cousin into war, and look where that had gotten him.

Redirecting the course of his attention toward Amenadiel, Azazel looked at him with askance and received a nod of confirmation. Beating the ash loose from his wings, Amenadiel took stock of their surroundings, alone in the great antechamber that had only moments before housed hordes of demon soldiers amassed for the Red Beast. 

Amenadiel winced, obviously favoring his left shoulder, and poked at the debris. Little more than ash and lumps of armor that had survived the blast. “Where is Lucifer?” he asked. 

“More than that, where is _everyone?”_ asked Maze. She also inspected the wreckage around them, but didn’t spend time searching through it. If he were here, she would feel it. As sure as a homing beacon or a heat-seeking missile. She had been, after all, created to protect him.

“Obliterated,” Azazel replied succinctly, caught by a flicker of light in a pile of smoldering rubble, and continued half-distractedly, “Torn apart by the Lightbringer into no more than their basic elements; bits of matter waiting in the ether.” Following the beckoning glint, he lowered to his haunches.

“That was _Lucifer?”_ Maze asked, sounding a little dazed. He was living power, stronger and faster than any demon that had ever lived, but never had she seen that kind of raw energy. The might of God, she realized, quelling a shudder.

“For Lucifer to have unleashed that kind of power…” Amenadiel trailed off, shaking his head. “I didn’t think a fallen angel could use the force of the Divine.”

Unearthing the object from beneath the ruins, Azazel answered softly, “Nor did I. But then, Lucifer is not the average fallen angel.” 

Mazikeen and Amenadiel shared a look. No, Lucifer certainly wasn’t. He had always defied expectation, broken every mold, tested every rule. Prolonged exposure to humans on Earth had been like a drug he couldn’t quit, a habit he inevitably returned to time and time again. Until Chloe. And then the habit became a full-blown addiction, all-consuming, and blinding him to the existence of anything else. His life, and his being, forever changed.

Turning to address his comrades at arms, Azazel offered them a view of a dagger and broke the silence, “Was that.. _._?” Mazikeen, fixated on the blade now resting in Azazel’s palm, interrupted the inquest and aggressively snatched Azazel’s wrist, drawing it closer. Steeling himself at her sudden proximity, Azazel upturned his hand to allow for further examination. 

The crescent-shaped blades were oddly familiar, but somehow equally foreign. In a flash, Mazikeen recalled the last few moments of the epic battle for Hell before being knocked on her ass by the idiot standing next to her: The horde. The carnage. The _fun._ Then...total whiteout. 

Of course!She’d witnessed that blinding white light before. All those months ago on the beach cleaning up after Lucifer’s mess. She’d saved that single errant feather and then, later, Amenadiel from the mortal wound inflicted by her blade at the hands of Malcom. That light, however, was but an ember compared to the supernova Lucifer had just unleashed. 

The helplessness she felt back then on the water’s edge upon the realization that her duty to Lucifer had enslaved her to a life on Earth she hadn’t bargained for was also sickeningly familiar now. Feelings had never been her thing. Even with all the strides she’d made, confusion often manifested to her default setting: anger. And who else could she blame for ruining her good time? Worse still, he’d seemingly left her...again! This time at home, but still all because of... 

Chloe. Where is Chloe?!

“I heard the shots. And then...she was...just..” Maze shuddered at the vision of Chloe’s body falling completely lifeless to the hard stone floor. 

“Chloe! Amenadiel, we need to go, NOW!”

Amenadiel, uncertain of what had actually happened but alarmed at Mazikeen’s inability to maintain her composure, quickly unfurled his wings, hoisted her into his arms, and launched himself into the air, leaving Azazel standing alone, dagger still in hand. 

~o0o~

Chloe struggled to open her eyes, feeling as though she had been asleep for days. The weight of her eyelids was nearly overpowering and her limbs felt like lead, but there was some reason - some important reason - she needed to wake up. People… she loved, people who needed her...

A warm touch swept along her cheek and into her hair, brushing the locks back. It was familiar; a touch both gentle and strong that cradled her, and at the same time ignited something within her.

It enkindled some store of strength she hadn’t known she possessed, warmth suffused throughout her limbs, melting the stiffness away. Chloe breathed deeply, inhaling the spicy combination of smoke, sandalwood, and whiskey. 

_Lucifer._

Her eyes opened, and fuzzily, his features fell into focus above her. His brows were drawn together, expression frozen in a portrait of suspended hope and disbelief. A smothered, choked sound, and then he was crushing her to him.

Enveloped in his arms as she was, his voice muffled against her shoulder, she couldn’t be sure she heard him correctly. It sounded like he was muttering, “Thank God. Thank God,” but given his rather complicated relationship with the Almighty and her current stupor, she doubted that was the case.

Sliding her arms around him, she whispered reassurances like she had to Trixie after a nightmare, and stroked his back. Her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, and she continued to murmur, “It’s okay. It’s all okay.” Whatever had happened had upset him greatly. 

Lucifer withdrew to look into her eyes, and for the first time she spied the room behind his shoulder, recognizing the wall of their bedroom. What had happened? Foggily, she searched her memory, but came up empty. She didn’t even remember being home. Where had she been last?

“Was I.. asleep?” Chloe asked, voice husky from disuse.

He helped her to sit up from her sprawl across his lap, though his hold didn’t loosen. But instead of answering her question, the hand cradling her head brought her face to his, and his kiss, fierce and demanding, overpowered any other thought.

The few inches of space between them closed, their upper bodies pressed as close as breathing, and baby, allowed. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, stealing into her mouth possessively. Rapacious, hungry kisses, that weren’t just hot - they were incinerating. Chloe realized, rapidly becoming dizzy again with heady kisses, that he had always been holding this back. Passionate, yes; fun and adventurous, even so unguarded and driven that it pierced her soul. But never this - this desperation, this need.

It was like being caught in a storm, except _he_ was the storm. The whirlwind was evident; she felt tossed about and pulled asunder with every kiss that stole her breath, his arms strangely holding her afloat and steady through the swells, yet somehow casting her further and further from the safety of the shore. 

Recognizing the feel of Lucifer pushing her into their mattress, and his familiar scent engulfing her, Chloe arched into his hands, hooking a knee behind his leg, desperately trying to provide a lifeline to anchor him. He was breathing hard; the storm flashed around her, and she felt the answering crackle of lightning in her veins. 

She put her hands to work, unseeingly searching for his skin, finding his dress shirt unbuttoned, and pulling the rest from the waist of his pants. His skin was on fire everywhere she touched, down the sides of his ribs to his waist, and past his navel, where she struggled to unfasten his pants as well. A guttural moan reverberated against her skin, burning with each scorching kiss. Pulled from her frenzy, Chloe sought his gaze. Like his skin, his eyes were ablaze, but lit with another kind of heat. Crimson flashed in their depths, made brighter by the betraying glint of tears.

She’d experienced his passion many times before, but this was completely foreign. Desperation mixed with fear? She became more and more aware of the furor within him with every exhalation that left his mouth, now nestled at her neck. Chloe pulled him nearer to her to try and soothe him, disconcerted when Lucifer’s moan became a choked whimper. A momentary clearing in the eye of the storm, and she realized his tears had fallen upon her.

The combination of his urgency and tears only wrecked her further, spurring her to reach for her shirt and desperately shed the last barriers between them, needing the reassurance of skin on skin, of his body joined with hers, realizing it was the impetus driving him as well. The need to come together in the most instinctual and intrinsic way possible, to feel the irrefutable proof of each other’s existence. 

As if reading her mind, as he had so many times before, his hands left her shoulders and coasted down her arms, coming to her breasts. Meeting her fingers fumbling at the waistline of her leggings, Lucifer brushed her hands aside, voraciously seizing the fabric.

In the quiet space around them, where only the impassioned mingling of breaths and moans existed, the violent rent of torn fabric split the silence. In seconds, he was pushing inside her. She wasn’t quite ready, not fully prepared by the sudden onslaught of this smoldering maelstrom, but as Chloe watched him, heard the rough growl he gave as he was fully seated, an answering primal thrill shot through her. The feel of him took her by surprise, the sudden friction deliciously adding to the sensation of being thoroughly and completely filled. With it soon came the welcoming pooling of heat from deep within in response to the potent knowledge that he was desperate, mindless, to be inside her.

Lucifer wasn’t gentle; his hands grasped her hips, widening her for each hard thrust that brought her sex flush against his, rough and urgent and demanding. Caught in the ebb and flow of the tide, she couldn’t look away from his eyes, still bright with the tempest barely held at bay, professing a basic, animalistic need that shook her. Battered by how painfully he needed her, she met each powerful thrust with growing anticipation, lifted higher and higher with every sound of pleasure that dropped from his lips.

With a tortured groan, he pulled her to him roughly, grinding against her as he pumped his release deep inside her. The sound of him coming was all she needed to climb the final crest before her own orgasm took her, seizing his hips in her hands and holding him to her through the waves. His moan met her cry of relief, rocking her through the last vestiges of her release.

Her palms swept up his back, dress shirt now damp with sweat, and she sighed against his lips. She felt his hand brush her hair from her face before he carefully extricated himself from her. Pushing up on one elbow, she watched as he sat back on his heels, raking his hair from his forehead, gaze on the coverlet beside her.

Why wasn’t he looking at her? She frowned. Her pulse slowing to a normal rhythm, she sat up fully and scooted until she was right in front of him, breaking his eye contact with the bedspread. “Lucifer?” He shifted, as if almost uncomfortable with her proximity, averting his gaze once again. “Lucif-,” she started, but was abruptly interrupted by his heart-wrenching apology. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“What?” Bewildered and concerned, Chloe reached for him. He wasn’t making any sense.

“Lucifer, what are you talking about?” Finally able to grasp his hands without him pulling away from her, she tenderly brushed her thumbs over the ridges of his knuckles, aiming to soothe him from some tumult she still didn't quite understand. 

“Are you...did- Did I hurt you?” He stammered the question haltingly, clearing his throat, seemingly trying to regain command of his faculties. 

“What?! No, of course not.” Did he mean that rather intense but completely mind-blowing bout of lovemaking? “Lucifer, look at me. Look at me. I’m fine. Better than fine.” Chloe reassured him with a gentle smile as he finally brought his gaze up to meet hers. She could clearly read worry there, a shadow of uncertainty.

At just the thought of the fervidity of her recent climax, a lingering shiver of prurience chased through her. She would not allow him to doubt her desire, ever. Chloe inched nearer, until she could urge him to sit back against the pillows, and climbed into his lap. “Never, ever,” she said softly, “hold back from me.”

“If it’s not something I want,” she continued, “I’ll tell you. Understand? And _that_ I _definitely_ want again.” 

The cocky smile he usually wore didn’t return fully, but it was there in his eyes, ready to come out. “Is that so, Detective?” he asked, and though his tone was playful, he remained completely still, as if waiting. It was apparent she was going to have to convince him with actions, not words. 

He didn’t understand that in those moments, his ferocity had belied his true desire: Her. Not in the common sense or an everyday kind of want. Complete, soul-shaking, all-encompassing need; that he couldn’t see anything but being inside her. Nor did he seem to understand what that knowledge did to her. It was powerful.

If not for the potent energy she’d felt surging through every muscle, she might have allowed her thoughts to linger a little too long in worry that, perhaps, he’d never really believed just how deeply she loved him and accepted him in all his perfect imperfection. 

Repositioning herself to sit astride him, Chloe ground against him, the remnants of both their orgasms still evident between her legs, slick and hot. She repeated the motion, relishing in the response she was able to pull from him, his stiffening cock providing just the right amount of friction against her still-sensitive sex. If he needed convincing, she’d make certain there was no way he could ever doubt how much she wanted everything he was ever willing to give her and in however many ways she could get it. 

From the first moments of their carnal connection, Lucifer had always been in complete control. He knew how to draw out every bit of pleasure from her using all five senses: the sight of him eager for her, the smell of his cologne and the faint scent of smoke and whiskey, the feel of his touch expertly placed and always well-timed, the taste of his kisses and sweat made sweeter by passion, and the sounds he could wrestle from her. There was no mistaking his devotion; every single moment was designed to push her to new heights. 

That thought, and the wrecked sigh that escaped from his lips, brought another wave of heat pooling in that delicious place inside her. _Yes_. This was going to be something he’d never question again. The fire she’d witnessed in him just minutes before was still there in smoldering embers, and the realization that just her touch could reignite it spurred an aggression in her she’d unknowingly hidden and nearly forgotten altogether.

With the next roll of her hips, his head dipped back in ungraceful ecstasy, knocking against the headboard and exposing his throat. Chloe seized the opportunity to wrap her fingers possessively around it, forcefully shoving Lucifer harder against the tufted fabric; maybe a little harder than she’d actually intended. But she loved this, and if the look in his eyes -- sacrificial submission -- didn’t give away how much he was enjoying her greedy comportment, the nearly imperceptible roll of his hips in unison with hers definitely did. 

A cheshire grin spread across her face, and in an instant, she was forcing her tongue into his mouth, hand still tautly gripping the stubbled skin just below his jaw. It was all teeth and tongue, and despite her best efforts to hold him in place, keeping him where she wanted, he fought to regain some dominance, leaning forward and grabbing the flesh at her hips. 

Oh, no, no, no. This was not the game she was wanting to play. 

Using the grasp she had on the sensitive skin at his neck, Chloe dug her nails in ever-so-slightly, teeth finding and biting his plump lower lip to wordlessly convey that _she_ was in charge now. She could feel his Adam’s apple move beneath her palm as Lucifer attempted to swallow his surprise. Releasing her hold on him, Chloe worked to slide his dress shirt off his shoulders so that she could reveal more of his body for her to covetously consume. 

The cufflinks at his wrists prevented her from being able to fully remove the soft linen from his perfectly toned torso. He indignantly attempted to unhook the fasteners, while his wet mouth sought the morsels of her conveniently positioned and exposed nipples. As if pulling a play from her playbook, he replaced hot tongue with barely-blunted teeth, sending another wave of heat running straight to her core. She responded in kind with a particularly impassioned rut against him, the delicious burn eliciting one spark after another, each begging for the next intoxicating graze of her flesh against his. A wicked idea dawned, and she grabbed his arms at the wrist, forcing them inelegantly back against the mattress. Never ceasing her steady rhythm, she kept him in place, using his own shirt as improvised restraints, leaving him completely exposed for her exploit.

“It’s _my_ turn,” she admonished breathily. His only response was a low growl as his eyes rolled back in his head. 

She nipped at his ear, running her tongue along the shell and whispered, “Can you feel how much I need you?” 

“Answer me,” she commanded in a low voice as she sat back up.

Deep brown finally meeting seagreen, dilated eyes dark with arousal, Lucifer hissed, “ _Yes_.”

Licking the palm of her hand, she reached behind her, finding and grasping his now rock-hard erection. Unlike before, she was totally ready for him and she simultaneously pumped once with her hand and moved to position him at her entrance. Her flesh was slightly swollen, plump from his abrupt invasion earlier, the new rush of blood south brought every nerve alive as she languorously lowered herself on him, savoring the slow torture that was denied her before. 

“You really have no idea do you?” she asked, starting a sinuously slow grind. She was setting the pace, every rut caused her still-sensitive nub to rub against his pubic bone. “When you lose control like that...taking what you want…” 

“Fuckk.” Lucifer exhaled, screwing up his eyes. 

“I see you, every bit of you. How could you think for one second that I don't want _all_ of it,” Chloe confessed, clawing at his chest as she rode him. She enjoyed seeing the subtle change in color she was able to extort from his skin, the knowledge that she was the only human alive that could do so; tan momentarily flushing pink and staying just shy of red. Marking him like this, even if only temporarily, was _everything_. 

She leaned in closer to him, drawing the tender skin of his collarbone into her mouth and sucking until she had marked him. On his neck and shoulder, she left another sign of her claim. Every scrape of her teeth against his skin elicited a corresponding heave of his hips. She picked up the pace, setting a punishing rhythm as she chased her building orgasm. Chloe could see him struggling to keep his hands where she’d left them tangled in the sleeves of his dress shirt, but his obedience was nearly enough to send her over the edge. 

“Open your eyes. I want you to see what you do to me,” she said breathlessly.

His eyes opened revealing that hallmark crimson, not concealing from her the dark intensity of his excitement. She was so close. Never breaking eye contact, Chloe forced two fingers of her right hand to his mouth, stroking against the sleek lubricious surface of his tongue. He closed his lips around them, expertly coating them with his saliva. 

She extracted her fingers from his mouth and reached between them, rapidly rubbing her clit in swift circles. She could feel that radiating heat start to spread, the tingling working its way from her core through every nerve in her body. Pleasure, pure and consuming, collected in increasing succession, and the combination of her fingers working herself and the fulfillment of him succumbing to her uncharacteristic desire for control was her undoing. Her orgasm hit her like a tsunami, wave after punishing wave raking through her as she writhed before crumpling against his chest, Lucifer thrusting into her as her walls tightened around him and he reached his own release.

~o0o~

Despite the consolation of their connection returning as they peered into each other’s eyes, Chloe, satiated and content, could sense that the storm they’d just weathered hadn’t completely receded. Hints of the tears she’d thought she felt during their passionate interlude were now fully evidenced by the remnants of the faint streaks marking his cheeks. 

She eased off of him, encouraging him to roll onto her, nestling his head against the swell of her breast and wrapping his arm across her torso. She moved to pull him closer, still unsettled by his obvious distress. They remained silent for a time as she softly ran her fingers through his hair and he gently caressed the skin along her forearm that had found its place next to his. Finally, he asked, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Thrown by the simple yet odd question, Chloe thought. Her memories felt jumbled, a little out of place. “The professor, and the rest of the prophecy,” she said, considering. “You… were upset, and you left. I think I tried to stop you.”

She paused, uncertain at her own recollections. “I must have had some weird dreams. I saw my dad.”

With that confession, she felt Lucifer exhale deeply, his hold on her becoming even tighter. The mollifying motion of his hand paused infinitesimally before continuing. “What else?” he asked.

Chloe frowned, trying to bring the image of her father into focus. Instead of his strong, familiar features, a more delicate visage took form in her mind’s eye. A child, fair-skinned and blonde, looking up at her with curiosity and love. “A child…? And then, you were there.” 

He hummed affirmatively. “Anything more?” 

Distant, already nearly faded from memory, she could feel rather than see a warmth surround her reminiscent of freshly laundered linens. She blinked incredulously, shaking her head in disbelief at her realization and uttered a sound of denial. 

Placing a gentle kiss to her collarbone, “You were in Heaven,” he said, softly. 

Chloe tried to look at him. How could that be possible? And, if it were possible, how on Earth was Lucifer there with her? 

Soon, he was attempting to sit up again, pulling her close, never loosening his grip, and burying his head in the place where her neck met her shoulder. Though she was beginning to connect the dots, confronting the very-real conclusion that she may have, in fact, died, she found herself comforting him instead, fingers once again stroking through his hair. “I died?” She was proud that her voice didn’t waver.

“How am I here?” she asked.

“Let’s just say I might have to be more concerned about my liver in the future.”

“Lucifer,” she began sternly.

He sighed, “Very well.” As if searching for where to begin, he paused, arms tightening around her.

“Professor Lexington was behind the Excommunication murders. We stopped him, but not in time to keep him from taking his own life or attempting to destroy the remainder of the prophecy.”

She nodded, his recitation evoking scraps of memory that joined together until they formed a coherent whole. The parchment thrown into the fireplace, Lucifer retrieving it from the flames without hesitation, and then the devastated, obstinate look on his face when he’d related the last lines of the augury and his decision to leave before he could bring her harm.

“It turned out that there was something of a coup brewing in Hell while I was gone. When I returned, I walked right into it. And then if _that_ weren’t shocking enough, imagine my surprise seeing you show up as well.” 

“Lucifer,” Chloe started pleadingly, recognizing a hint of agitation in his voice, “I couldn’t just...”

“No, Chloe. No, you could have ‘just’ and you _should_ have ‘just’…” Lucifer growled, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

“We’re partners. No matter how hard you try to keep me out of harm's way, I’m not going to just let you go ride off into danger without me.”

“Don’t you...my safety...it doesn’t; I don’t matter. There’s absolutely no logical reason why you should risk your life for mine!"

“How could you say that!?”

“How could you not?” exhaling, exasperated, Lucifer placed his large hand gently on the crest of the small bump now easily visible at Chloe’s midriff. 

Chloe ran her fingertips along the line of his forearm until meeting his hand on her stomach and lacing her fingers between his, gently squeezing in an attempt to convey her understanding of his concern rooted in something much deeper than the two of them. A sobering realization that just beneath their hands laid the single most important connection they would ever make. 

She placed a soft kiss to his forehead and returned his earlier apologies with one of her own, “Oh, Lucifer. I’m okay, we’re okay. Really.”

Stroking the skin of her stomach beneath his fingers, he met her eyes, unsure. “Could we make certain she’s alright?” 

The little girl from her dream-like memory refocused in her thoughts, and Chloe directed her reflections to the growing life inside her. She felt sure that child was Christine, that it was their daughter who had stood close and looked up at her with excitement shining when Lucifer had asked her to take his hand and leave with him. To live a life with him. 

She kissed him again before rising. “Yes, of course.”

~o0o~


	2. Turnabout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Thanks so much for all your comments, subscriptions, and bookmarks! We are so excited to be sharing the continuation of this story with all of you and truly appreciate the time you are taking to indulge us. We hope you enjoy this chapter; lots of fluffy goodness lies ahead! - M&E

“What is taking so long?” Lucifer asked, casting the receptionist’s desk another chastising frown.

Though they’d scheduled to come in over half an hour ago, they had been confined to the waiting room’s banal, beige-colored walls and months-old reading material. In addition to being bored out of his mind, he’d grown increasingly tired of having to deflect the never-ending stream of glances and smiles he’d been getting since he stepped foot in the office by behind Chloe. An entire room of hormonally-charged women; a more estrogen-laden environment could not have been found. He’d hoped that his newfound mortality would have at least put a damper on this rather inconvenient angelic attribute. 

“Lucifer, sit down,” Chloe said. “They’ll see us when they’ll see us.”

Nervous energy kept him from sitting down, however; as soon as he’d made to sit beside her, he was up again, pacing the narrow aisle of chairs once more. “What was the point of calling ahead if we were just going to have to wait around anyway?” he groused, annoyed.

She sighed but didn’t reply, leafing through one of the magazines from the table beside her. Finally, when he’d grown tired of fidgeting with the brightly colored beads of one of those classic children's toys reminiscent of an abacus, he dropped down beside her, though his fingers drummed impatiently. 

“Ms. Decker?” A nurse in the open doorway beckoned for them, a file in her hand.

Immediately, Lucifer jumped to his feet, grasping Chloe’s hand, and towed her along. She followed along docilely enough until they reached the examination room.

“Will you come this way with me, please? We need to do a check-in of your weight,” the homely nurse in ducky-print scrubs asked. Chloe sent him a look that said, quite clearly, _Don’t touch anything,_ and followed her down the hall. Something about the look in his eyes gave her momentary pause; his normal mischievous grin wasn’t completely convincing, and the look of concern he’d been carrying since they’d returned from their trip “North” hadn’t fully waned. 

As Chloe sauntered off to the scale, Lucifer found himself standing in front of a poster depicting the various parts of a woman’s reproductive anatomy. He’d normally make some sort of comment altering all of the clinical names with his own filthy versions, but he was far too concerned about Chloe and Christine to muster the energy to even have a go at it. 

Her calm, unruffled demeanor was reassuring, but didn’t completely quell the uncertainty churning inside him. He knew that if Chloe honestly believed anything was wrong, she would tell him. He tried to remember that, to fix it before him, but his world had been thrown from its axis ever since he’d seen her amid the swarm of demon hordes packed between them in the chasmal battle zone, her light surrounded by the insidious blackness, and then winked out, excised by the empty, baseless creatures around her.

It was the moment he’d dreaded for the duration of their friendship. Any harm coming to her was unacceptable, let alone her death. Lucifer held back a shudder, refusing to allow his thoughts to take him back to that moment of utter devastation. He wasn’t completely certain what he’d intended to do when he’d landed outside Heaven’s gates. The only tangible thought had been of reaching her. Her soul’s entrance to the Silver City meant eternal separation, which was something he knew he wouldn’t survive. Immortality be damned.

Truth be told, he hadn’t permitted any prolonged departure from her before, and he wasn’t going to let something like her being in Heaven stop him now. He’d always find a way back to her; he’d promised her that much. Whether it be by waging all out war in the Silver City or through more diplomatic means like the deal he’d just made with his Father, Lucifer knew one thing for certain: wherever she was, wherever Chloe and now their daughter was, that’s where he must be. 

He was jostled from his thoughtless review of the image by the sudden feel of her hand gently wrapping around his wrist. Her reemergence in the small room immediately diverted his attention, grounding him to the here and now. The nurse was chatting indistinctly in the doorway as she entered behind Chloe. 

“You said it’s been how many hours since you felt the baby move?” she was asking, using her badge to access the computer in front of her.

Chloe bit her lip, sitting on the edge of the examination table, and darted a questioning look his way. “I’m not sure. Yesterday?”

“A few hours is normal,” the nurse answered kindly. “Sometimes depending on how the baby is positioned or if he or she is asleep... “

“ _She_.” Lucifer interjected brusquely, head hung low on his shoulders while he worriedly wrung his hands and bounced both knees restlessly. 

“We’re having a girl.” Chloe offered, trying to soften Lucifer’s tone. “I had a... _rough_...day yesterday at work. Took a bit of a...spill.” 

Lucifer exhaled the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He redirected his eyes, now glaring at Chloe as she attempted to gloss over the reality of what had actually happened to her for the sake of nurse studiously typing in pre-exam notes into the computer in front of her. 

His tone was low with a hint of agitation, “You _died._ ”

“Excuse me?” The nurse’s eyes dashed back and forth between them, a notch sharpening between her eyebrows. 

“No,” Chloe hurried to object. “I didn’t --” She stopped and looked at the nurse. “He’s exaggerating. I’m fine.”

When his expression didn’t relax, she amended, “But we would feel better if we could have an ultrasound. As soon as possible.”

The nurse typed notes into the chart and nodded, getting to her feet. “Alright. The doctor will be with you in a few minutes,” she assured them, and closed the door behind her with a soft _snick._

Chloe reached for his hand, and he watched as her fingers intertwined with his. They sat in silence, neither speaking, but seeming to take in the gravity of the moment. The warmth of her hand was comforting, and he stared unseeingly at the door. Her fingers drew through his hair and he exhaled slowly.

He’d just turned to look at her when _finally_ the door opened, and Dr. Martino stepped through. The doctor greeted them with a congenial smile and waved the closed file as he crossed to the monitor. “Good afternoon,” he said pleasantly. “I understand you had a bad fall?” he asked inquiringly, looking at Chloe.

With a gentle squeeze of her fingers in his, Chloe answered, “Yes. I’m okay. But we would really like to see the baby. I’m not sure she’s moved recently.” 

Dr. Martino nodded, easing Chloe to a reclining position, before gently examining her abdomen for any palpable issues or abnormalities she may have sustained. “Well, let’s get the ultrasound equipment together and see what’s what. I suspect we’ll find everything as it should be, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry. Have you felt any pain? Signs of spotting?”

“No, none.”

Rising to his feet, Lucifer watched avidly as Dr. Martino made quick work of locating the heartbeat and articulating the transducer to hone in on the best image of Christine. The sound of that rapid thumping didn’t appear to be out of sorts or any different from the last time Lucifer had heard it, which assuaged his initial concerns, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Chloe smiled, “See? Everything’s fine. She’s completely fine.”

Though Lucifer’s concern began to recede, his intense study of the screen didn’t waver. There, the curled form of the fetus was visible. Unlike the last time, when it had been difficult to discern anything more than a grainy blob, features were now plainly recognizable - the head, an arm, a dimpled wrist, and tiny fingers balled into a fist tucked tightly against her chin. The baby turned in profile, her hand dropping away from her face to reveal a miniature nose, cherubic lips, and eyelids fluttering delicately. 

Lucifer watched in fascination as he saw the face of his child for a second time, now replicated on the small screen, but no less beautiful than he’d remembered outside the gates of the Silver City. He was starting to welcome the ache in his chest that had taken up residence there lately. It would visit him in the quiet moments when he’d steal a glance at Chloe, admiring her silhouette and the soft swell of her stomach. He couldn’t begin to fathom how he’d ever endure the sweet agony he knew would engulf him the first moment he held their child in his arms. 

Awestruck and overcome with emotion, he pried his gaze from the screen, chancing a sideways glance at Chloe, hoping he might steal one of those moments. Much to his amusement, her eyes, glistening with unbridled tenderness, were unreservedly fixated on him. She, too, had been stealing these glances it seemed. He returned her affections with a shy smile and a gentle kiss to the ridge of her hand he’d been holding in anxious anticipation. 

Dr. Martino peered at the display. “Yes, absolutely. Baby Christine is perfectly healthy. Except...” he paused. Lucifer’s heart skipped a beat, but the doctor continued, “...except... she appears to actually be a _he.”_

“But we’re having a girl,” Lucifer protested.

Dr. Martino nodded in understanding, “These things happen on occasion. Here, in the start of the third trimester, the fetus’ growth allows for a far clearer image.” 

“But… But that’s impossible!”

With a shake of his gray head, Dr. Martino pointed at the evidence on the screen with his finger. “This says otherwise, Mr. Morningstar. The penis isn’t always visible in early ultrasounds.”

Lucifer scoffed, almost wounded, “Believe me, Doctor, if _my_ child had been a boy there would have been _no_ mistaking it.”

There was an exasperated, muttered response from Chloe, but the doctor pointed at the display, recapturing his attention. “See. Just there. That protrusion. Mazel tov?” 

The grin that spread across Lucifer’s face was abruptly frozen in place. He shot a disbelieving glance at Chloe, attempting to reconcile the memory of their daughter just outside the heavenly gates, and the realization they were now expecting a son. Any real opportunity to dwell on the implications of this revelation was immediately forgotten when Dr. Martino offered his hand in hearty congratulations.

"I hope you kept the receipts for any pink items, because I assure you... You’re definitely expecting a bouncing baby boy.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, probably at the doctor’s gender-normative suggestion, Lucifer thought. Boys could wear pink. Hell, Lucifer himself looked damned good in purple. Not that it would have mattered anyway, he’d buy whatever they needed without a second thought about color or cost. He’d be a provider, protector, and proud father no matter the child’s gender. 

Despite his initial concerns about fatherhood, having no real positive example from which to draw upon for guidance, it seemed maybe he’d already done something right. He thought back to the time he’d spent painting the walls of the nursery. His first tentative step into the new, uncharted territory of fatherhood was at least suitable for either a boy or girl. It would have been a travesty to alter that magical world he’d created, but he knew if Chloe asked, he would have covered it all up or started all over again until it was exactly what she wanted. All that mattered was their child was healthy, Chloe was content, and her recent brush with death hadn’t negatively impacted either of them.

It was quite interesting though, this unexpected change of gender, he mused. Or perhaps this wasn’t a transformation at all, rather Christine’s embodiment in the Silver City had been. There, where souls were born, form was a tangible thing. Age, appearance, all were flexible, but for the soul’s permanence. The soul didn’t ascribe itself to binary constraints, not until it entered a mortal realm. It was why souls recognized souls, their counterparts, without considerations of the flesh. 

While Chloe dressed, Lucifer proudly handed his credit card to the medical assistant, proceeding to purchase a copy of the 4D ultrasound footage in literally every format they offered: wallets, 5x7s, 8x10s, digital copies, even a DVD. Returning his billfold to the breast pocket of his suit coat, Lucifer felt his cellphone vibrate. He’d been so distracted ensuring Chloe and the baby were safe, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d checked it. He fished it out and began thumbing through the notifications. With a frown, he scrolled through several texts from Maze, which grew increasingly alarmed:

_Where r u?_

_Where is Chloe?_

_Do u know where Chloe is?_

_HELLO?!?!?!_

_Dumbass, ANSWER ME._

_We r @ the penthouse. Call as soon as u get this._

_If u aren’t already dead, u will b when I find u!_

_FFS, LUCIFER. Srsly. WTF R U!?_

~o0o~

“Right, child. Yes, I know, darling. I’m excited, too.” Lucifer spoke into the receiver as he pressed the button, summoning the penthouse elevator. Shifting in place, he glanced over his shoulder to see if the Detective had made her way back from the ladies’ room. She’d been spending a great deal of time there lately now that the baby was lovingly pressing against her bladder more and more with each day. 

She’d been gone a while, he thought. Or maybe it just felt like an eternity because the urchin had completely hijacked their conversation, rambling about her latest misadventures on the playground and a vile boy who was tormenting her at recess named Michael. It figured, he thought, Michael was the worst. 

Just as quickly as she’d changed the subject before, Trixie was once more squealing into the phone with unfettered excitement. He couldn’t help the grin stretching across his face as he turned in place to look for Chloe. “Yes. But remember it’s our se- _cret.._.” the last syllable trailing as it spilled out of his mouth and he made eye contact with the Detective standing just inches away. 

Eyebrow cocked, mouth pursed, and eyes slanted, Chloe shot him a look revealing equal parts intrigue, concern, and annoyance. 

Feeling mildly impeached, Lucifer terminated the conversation hurriedly, “Your mother wants to talk to you,” and handed Chloe the phone cautiously. 

Glowering at him, “Yes, Monkey, Lucifer and I will pick you up from your Dad’s …. And I promise we’ll go get lunch at that place you love on the pier. Yes. I love you, too. Bye, Monkey.” Chloe replied, and hung up her phone as the elevator pinged, reaching the penthouse at Lux. 

Hoping to stem the inquisition as to just what he and Trixie had been discussing, Lucifer reached out to Chloe, drawing her into his side, unable to hold back a smile, especially when she looked at him with clear, unshadowed happiness. But before either of them could step foot onto the polished floor, Lucifer’s hand was wrenched from its place at Chloe’s side, and he was forcefully pushed into the rear wall of the cubicle.

“You son of a bitch! Where the hell have you been!?” Maze asked furiously, dagger pressed dangerously close to Lucifer’s neck.

Amenadiel swiftly interceded, physically separating the two as if they were quarreling children, as Linda approached and ushered Chloe toward the Italian leather couches. She filled a glass at the bar and looked up at Chloe. “Need a drink? Because I sure as hell do. You have no idea what dealing with these two has been like for the last 48 hours. Well...maybe you have _some_ idea,” she amended, and lifted the glass to her mouth, knocking back the amber liquid in one gulp.

Still hotly and angrily addressing him, Maze exclaimed, “One minute we’re all there kicking ass and taking names, Chloe’s even joining in on the fun, and the next minute…”

Lucifer closed the distance between them indignantly, wrapping his hand around her throat, and trading their previous positions, lifting her effortlessly off the ground and against the glowing wall. The brazen reference to Chloe’s presence where she _shouldn’t have ever been_ instantly cleaving through the easy enjoyment of mere minutes past. 

“Did you bring her there!? Did you encourage it!? Answer me, Mazikeen!” his eyes flashed red, voice dropping several octaves. “You took her to certain _death!”_

Amenadiel once again attempted to diffuse, but Lucifer’s rage could not be quelled. He would not be moved aside like a child needing to retreat to his corner or have a seat on the naughty step. Maze wrestled in his clutches, struggling to pull in air and ardently clawing at Lucifer’s forearm. In fact, Amenadiel’s interference only brought his presence to Lucifer’s attention. 

“And you, Brother! You had to have helped. Mortals don’t just get a free ticket to the underworld without assistance!” 

Lucifer’s accusatory glare pinned Amenadiel without mercy. “Do you have _any idea--_ ” Lucifer simultaneously released a near-lifeless Maze from his grip, and with a swift hand to his brother’s sternum, sent Amenadiel careening across the room until he met the unforgiving stone of the Assyrian facade. The abused wall held firm, though a sizable crack was left from the impact.

Deadly intent, Lucifer began after him. Finally, he had an outlet upon which he could release the riot of impotent fury and devastation that had coalesced and burned within him. The anger he’d been harboring had only subsided when Chloe’s eyes had finally opened on the floor of their bedroom, his lungs taking in air only once he witnessed hers do the same. Here, now, however, he had a worthy target he could bring into focus, a responsible repository where he could unleash his teeming ferocity. Meeting his eyes squarely and without apology, Lucifer stalked toward Amenadiel just as he was rising to his feet. 

A voice interrupted the haze, and she stood before him.

“Lucifer. Stop!” Chloe intervened. “It’s not his fault! It’s not Maze’s fault!” She held her hands up, palms exposed, as if beseeching his mercy.

Behind them, Linda said, “Oh, for God’s sake!” and hurried to Amenadiel, brushing the bits of crumbled stone from the sleeve of his sweater. 

“I made them take me,” she said. “I needed to find you.”

He couldn’t look at her in anger. It was easier to ascribe his ire to Amenadiel and Maze than to direct it on her; she’d literally been to Hell and back in the last few days. Heaven, too, he thought to himself, still wrestling with conflicting feelings of admiration for her bravery and frustration at her thoughtless stupidity. Lucifer looked past her, to where his brother stood defenseless and waiting. Welcoming his punishment, if that was what he so desired.

A rasped voice sounded off, “What actually happened? Like I was _saying_ , everything was good, then a bunch of bright ass light and you both were gone,” croaked Maze, massaging her neck. She approached Lucifer and Chloe, though wisely maintained a few feet of distance.

With a steadying sigh, Lucifer replied, “Chloe…died. I… I met her at the gates and convinced her to come back. Back here with me.” 

Amenadiel inhaled sharply, eyeing Lucifer curiously. “How? Father would never allow a mortal to return to the earthly plane once their soul had already passed through.”

“He and I came to an agreement.”

“What kind of agreement?” Chloe interrupted, worry clear in her eyes.

He turned to her, grasping both of her hands in his, “That doesn’t matter. All that matters is you’re here, you’re safe, the baby is safe, and we can carry on as before. Just as we have always been. I promise.” 

Her expression conveyed her doubt in the veracity of his statement, but the skepticism faded as her arms tightly wrapped around his torso, telling him, at least for now, that this admission was enough. Eventually, the temporary reprieve would lift, and he would be compelled to explain. The problem was he, too, had many questions for which he had no real answers.

“Uh-huh...” Linda remarked clapping her hands together and making her way back to the bar, “I need another drink.”

Holding Chloe close, Lucifer met Amenadiel’s eyes. He may have been able to stave off the discussion for now, but questions darkened his brother’s countenance. Soon, a reckoning was coming, and he would have no choice but to divulge the details of the last deal the Devil would ever make. 

~o0o~


	3. Karma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at work, Chloe and Lucifer catch a new case.

The world has changed since last I walked it, yet so much remains the same. Constant as the damned stars above. Stagnant. 

Some things, it seems, never change. Great feats of engineering and building, the mastering of light, power - enough to pierce the blackest heart of any jungle - yet no sooner had I set foot here than I was accosted by an example of the type of presumptions this species has been known for.

Their perceptions are so limited. So blinded by the fog of superiority they wear like a crown. 

Always craving the need to display their dominance, to be praised and revered at the slightest achievement, no matter how unimpressive. Their “accomplishments” as inconsequential as their existence. Like these great looming towers and bright reflections everywhere one turns, things I have only seen facsimiles of in the dark rooms of despair. 

Only in those cells do they come to realize their misplaced pride and vanity. They were the ones made imperfect.

There was a time I may have felt some pity, some sorrow for the gift of life that was extinguished as easily as the flame that dances upon a candle. 

And he did dance, so beautifully, in those last moments - his limbs jerking in surprise, the final twitch once he’d breathed his last. It was almost a shame to let him die so soon; an accident but a welcome reminder of their fragility. He might have been useful, at least while I found my bearings. His kind are simple enough, incapable of truly seeing, comprehending. 

Just as they underestimated me. They will see, they will _all_ see that I cannot be caged. 

There is no confinement that I cannot escape. Hell was no difficulty; I’ve navigated its corridors and secrets for time untold. Death presented no challenge there. Finding suitable form once here was more interesting, but also not beyond my ability. 

Now that I have arrived, I will take what should have been mine by right, denied me out of spite. 

No man or angel, nor even God himself, will stand in my way.

~o0o~

It was almost painful, the sort of ordinary of these calls. Western Avenue was well-known for human-trafficking, sex workers, and, unfortunately, murder. For decades, the bodies of women would be found in alleys and dumpsters, cast aside and discarded without a second thought. Taken, used, and disposed. When Chloe got the word of a new case, she was sure it would be another young female who’d met her demise just trying to survive by selling the only thing she could call her own: her body. 

She’d been in this area many times over the years as a detective, the deaths so common that they didn't even make the news anymore. Who could be persuaded to care about women like these? With the snap of black latex gloves against her wrists, Chloe shook the thought from her mind and made her way to where Ella was crouched photographing an object just inside the barrier of yellow tape. 

“What do we know about her?”

“Oh...hey, Chlo’. Uhh...not a her,” Ella replied as she lifted the white sheet to reveal the face of a man. He was clean-shaven, likely early- to mid-thirties, dark hair, sharp jawline, some might even venture to say handsome -- well, maybe...when he wasn't dead. 

“Huh…” Chloe exhaled, expressing surprise and resignation in equal measure.

Dropping to her haunches, Chloe nearly lost her balance, her typical descent now impeded by her burgeoning belly, before being steadied by large hands resting gently on her shoulders. _Lucifer_. She didn't even have to look to know. She knew his hands, their heat and outline as familiar to her as her shadow following her in the summer sun. 

He’d been hovering more of late, insistent on doing the simplest things for her as if she’d somehow become helpless once she’d reached the third trimester. As annoying as he might have been in the last week or so, this was one time she’d been happy he was there to catch her. Returning to a standing position after being seated was like an Olympic trial now that she was fully burdened by their baby boy. Eager as she was to meet him, she couldn't shake the niggling resentment that lingered from the realization that this child was inching her closer to a point where doing her job would soon become nearly impossible. 

“No ID. Only thing on him -- well, _in_ him--,” Ella chortled, “is the big-ass stake through his heart.” 

Chloe nodded, following Ella’s analysis. Along the center mass of the victim’s body, an object protruded from his chest, tenting the privacy sheet. Lifting the sheet back further, Chloe revealed what was likely the fatal injury: a rough wooden object akin to a stake piercing the man between his ribs. 

Carefully, she studied the ground around the corpse, the alleyway, and then the scarred pavement. “Yeah. That’s... _different_.” Chloe replied, choking through the last word.

“Totally! Some real Buffy stuff we have on this one,” said Ella, unable to contain her excitement at the parallels to one of her favorite TV shows. 

“Um.” Chloe rose to her feet, clearing her throat. “Excuse me.”

Pushing passed Lucifer and rushing back to the cruiser, she took a deep breath, grateful to replace the scent of hot, rotting garbage and human flesh with “clean” - it was L.A, after all - air. What she had become desensitized to years ago was beginning to assault her senses. 

Inhaling deeply once more, fighting back the heave moving its way through her diaphragm, Chloe steadied herself. It was just another crime scene. Mentally, she knew this. Physically, her body was disgusted by it. The reek of the corpse, lying exposed for hours in the California sun, and host to scavenging animals, made her stomach turn. 

If she were honest with herself, the toll this baby had taken on her body was much more than just the occasional guterral gymnastics and a difficulty squatting. Fatigue could settle in seemingly out of nowhere and she was desperately missing the six cups of coffee she’d grown accustomed to drinking every day since she started on the force. Irritability, too, partially caused by caffeine withdrawal, but owed mostly to her nearly constant physical discomfort, could creep up on her without much provocation.

Really, she reflected, Lucifer deserved an award for putting up with her lately. She didn’t remember being this grouchy and uncomfortable when she was carrying Trixie. If she hadn’t known he was the Devil, and that he’d likely take offense to her choice of flattery, she might have been generous enough to call him a Saint. Maybe, she thought, this was karmic justice for all the times she’d suffered through his exhausting antics and mercurial emotions. 

“Detective?” She heard Lucifer inquire tenderly with guarded concern, approaching from behind her. Swallowing hard, she straightened her blazer with her hands hoping to have hidden her infirmity from his increasingly incessant, yet equally endearing, interest.

“I’m fine. I just needed a minute,” she said with a forced smile. Lucifer nodded in response, though his demeanor plainly said he was humoring her. 

With a renewed determination and only moderately feigned salubrity, Chloe strode past him and rejoined Ella, who was cataloging a few pieces of collected evidence. It was difficult to distinguish, in a scene such as this, what items were the result of the environment or of the crime. Ella pretended not to notice the still-sallow pallor of Chloe’s skin. “And, uh, time of death was likely between one and two in the morning.” She glanced worriedly between Lucifer and Chloe.

“No wallet. Well-dressed. For all intents and purposes, out of place in this neighborhood. Robbery gone wrong, maybe?” Chloe posited.

“Ehh, I’d guess not. The murder weapon looks to be an implement of convenience. The murderer used whatever was handy and would get the job done,” Ella continued.

The gravity of the discussion was severed by a muffled chuckle from Lucifer, apparently amused by the unintentional innuendo. While so many things had been changing around them, Chloe was thankful for these once-unwelcomed moments of levity. He was her perfect counterpart. For all the solemness she carried and did her best to convey, he matched her in a playfulness that couldn’t be stifled even in the most inopportune circumstances. What used to be positively exasperating now only made her love him more deeply. As much as she wanted to admonish him for his immaturity in an otherwise sedate setting, she couldn't help the smirk that crept across her face or the fluttering in her chest as he winked at her. 

“Right, so if not robbery, how’d Casanova here get himself killed?” she challenged.

“I’d say he probably left a ‘date’ unsatisfied -- in more ways than one.” Lucifer offered, testing the boundaries of insinuation.

Ella encouraged, “What do you mean?” 

“Well, the area _is_ well-known for its appeal among Los Angeles’ finest.” Lucifer snickered.

Shocked, Ella blurted, “Cops!? You mean this guy is a cop? Aww, man. No way!”

“No, not police officers. Well, I suppose he _could_ be a police officer... No, what I meant was prostitutes,” he grinned lecherously. 

The affectionate expression Chloe had offered him just moments before quickly dissolved, traded for some wicked side-eye and an err of accusatory interest. “Oh, please, do share with us how you know so much about this particular neighborhood and its... _residents_ ,” she chided, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Detective, I’m simply suggesting that perhaps this sod had failed to _deliver_ and he paid the ultimate price for it. His fly was down.” It was clear from his inflection what Lucifer was implying as motive.

Ella pulled the sheet back a little further, and sure enough, the victim’s belt was unfastened and the tails of his white shirt could be seen peeking between the folds of his unzipped inseam.

“Good eye, Luce-ifer!” Ella said, offering Lucifer a high-five, which he unceremoniously declined by shoving his hands into his pockets. Her aborted gesture of camaraderie was unconvincingly disguised by feigning to swat away an imaginary insect.

“How’d you even see that?” Chloe scoffed.

He smiled at her with the biggest shit-eating grin, clearly tickled that he could still surprise her, even if it was because he was looking at a murder victim’s crotch. 

“Are you seriously suggesting he was killed because he maybe left a prostitute unsatisfied?”

Perhaps in an attempt to appeal to her sense of sisterly solidarity, Lucifer retorted, “How are you not more appalled, Detective!? Having experienced… well, I’ve lost count now… but I’d say at least a hundred orgasms yourself -- and you’re welcome, by the way -- why are you not more offended by this man’s indifference to a woman’s _needs_? As you well know, I have never left a woman wanting.” He waggled his eyebrows in her direction. 

Sucking air into her mouth through her teeth, Ella hissed in Lucifer’s direction, “Dude...Retreat! Retreat!”

Chloe’s jaw dropped and her fists balled until her knuckles whitened, not even knowing where to start to unpack all the things wrong with what had just come out of Lucifer’s mouth. In public. In front of Ella. At a crime scene. While she was pregnant. With his child. 

Sensing he may have overshot the landing on his last remarks, “Not that _I_ have any personal experience in this area,” he assured her quickly, “I have never had to pay for sex -- but it’s likely that when he failed to satisfy her needs physically, she resorted to other means to find some...relief.”

Chloe stared at him with all the scorn a seven-and-a-half-month-pregnant woman could amass (which was quite a lot, actually). “Right. So, in her sexual frustration, enraged and needy, her only recourse was to kill him and take his wallet?” Chloe retorted sardonically. 

“Precisely! See, Detective, I knew you’d understand,” he proclaimed, pleased with himself for having so astutely solved the case.

Completely ignoring him, Chloe looked at Ella, peering over the frames of her sunglasses. Ella understood that look, “Yeah.. Uh, I got this. I’ll bag this stuff up and meet you guys back at the precinct in a bit.”

Before he knew it, Chloe was pulling him along, gripping him firmly at his elbow and ushering him in the direction of the cruiser. She released her on hold him, but didn’t slow her stride, determined to reach the car as quickly as possible, it seemed. She arrived at the driver’s side first, but didn’t immediately move to open the door, leaning instead with arms outstretched against the exterior of the vehicle and her back to Lucifer. He followed after her and momentarily considered shouting ahead some remark about “assuming the position,” but thought better of it. 

Once he caught up to her, he settled behind her and ran his hands up her arms. She tensed upon the initial contact, but slowly relaxed into him. “Is everything okay, Detective? Is it the baby?” Lucifer asked, gently turning her in place to face him, but her eyes did not rise to meet his. He peered down at her, witness to the emotions warring for dominance on her features. One he clearly recognized having seen myriad times before: aggravation. But it was fading in and out, replaced by something that looked more like embarrassment mixed with the smallest amount of hurt. 

“Chloe, what is it?”

“Lucifer. You...You can’t say stuff like that at work. We’ve talked about this.” 

He looked at her incredulously, not realizing what it was that he had said that had upset her so.

“You talked about our relationship…about our love life in front of my coworkers. It’s embarrassing and unprofessional.” 

Somehow, in every way he’d seen her, witnessed her strength, courage, determination, and passion, this was his favorite version of her. Pregnant and made volatile by emotions she couldn't always keep hidden or control. The life they created, growing inside her, making more public the version of her he knew very few would ever be so fortunate to see. An unobstructed view of her insides turned out and laid bare. Usually an unfailing stalwart of steadiness and confidence, this version was stripped raw and vulnerable. Vulnerable, but not weak. Never. Not in the slightest. If anything, evermore fierce and disarming. 

Maybe this was biology finally catching up to him, the sheer pride knowing she was literally physically carrying a part of him with her, or maybe it was knowing what all they’d been through and risked to finally be here together. It didn’t matter; to him, she was absolutely irresistible like this and he didn't care who knew what he did to her -- or what she did to him -- in the quiet of their life together that wasn't on display for anyone to see. Others could hear about it, maybe even try to imagine it. Let them. Nothing could come close to capturing the stillness of complete surrender to any facade or guile, their true selves would be kept sacred and remain a secret only they knew.

He thought for a moment and motioned to pull her closer to him, testing her earlier resistance, pleased when she wrapped her arms around his narrow waist and melted into the tender embrace. “Darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

She nodded into his chest, a silent acceptance of his apology. 

“But, love, you do realize people know, right? I mean, my reputation is what it is and well...” he unwrapped his hand from its place between her shoulder blades, dragging it gently down her side before stopping to rest it on her abdomen. “It’s not exactly a secret we can keep hidden anymore.” A soft smile washed over him as he placed a light kiss to her forehead.

She sighed into his chest, “I know. It’s just some things I’d like to keep strictly between us. You know, discreet. It’s one thing for people to presume, it’s another for you to confirm it outright.”

“Understood.” 

She pulled away just enough to reach up on tiptoes to kiss him and exchange smiles. 

Lucifer opened the car door for her and waited until she’d gotten comfortable and secured her seat belt before closing the door and making his way to the passenger side. She’d insisted on driving still, but judging by how narrowly her belly was clearing the steering wheel, he knew it wouldn’t be long until they’d be trading places and he’d have a whole new set of emotions to brace himself for. 

“Probably closer to two hundred,” she said matter-of-factly as they began to drive away. 

He turned, raising an eyebrow inquisitively, not sure what she meant.

“Orgasms. Probably closer to two hundred by now,” she said as straight-faced as she could muster, barely keeping her grin in check. 

“Detective!” he exclaimed in feigned shock. “Care to shoot for three?” he challenged. 

~o0o~

She bagged and labeled various items from around the scene, not sure if any of them would actually prove useful toward finding who’d killed the good-looking guy in the suit. As tedious as this part of her job was, she thoroughly enjoyed the methodical predictability of it. Gloves on, numbered evidence markers placed carefully near anything that looked out of place, photographs, cataloguing by item number and description, more photographs, bagging, more labeling, more cataloguing, collecting everything to load into her police van, and finally filling out the chain of custody documentation before heading back to the lab to, once more, deliberately unpack each item for more careful examination. 

Ella extracted the first bagged item from the boxes marked “John Doe 140220”: the victim’s clothing. She began her inspection first by laying the white dress shirt, blood-stained and stiff, on her lab table. First order of business, swabbing the dried blood for a viable sample to send off for DNA testing. It’d be at least a few weeks before they’d get the results back, but it was protocol, so she set about her task with as much care as a hobbyist raising the masts of a ship in a bottle. 

This was quiet work, quiet and careful. As gregarious as Ella outwardly portrayed herself to be, there was a lot of darkness swirling around in her head at any given time, and the focus that her job required helped still the noise and give her purpose. She’d found “home” in L.A. despite being far from her family, and she owed a lot of that to the friendships she’d developed with her colleagues.

Chloe had quickly become like a sister to her. They’d been through a lot together and helped each other through some pretty difficult personal and professional situations. When she learned of Chloe’s pregnancy and the arrival of a Deckerstar baby, she just about burst with excitement. Then, when Chloe first referred to her as “Auntie Ella,” she nearly went full red-ring, the sweetness too much for her little heart. 

She recalled a time when “Pecker” babies were her heart’s desire, but she had to admit watching the push-me-pull-you relationship between Chloe and Lucifer over the last several years had given her more joy, angst, and pride than anything between Chloe and Pierce ever could have. Finding out Pierce was the Sinnerman, and then Cain from the Bible, quickly and literally nailed that coffin shut. Then again, finding out Lucifer was the actual Devil was also pretty intense.

Ella chuckled to herself as she continued to examine the white linen in front of her. She’d dated some interesting men in her life, but nothing could compare to Chloe’s luck. Not even the katoptronophile Ella dated her first year in Los Angeles; disco-balls would give her the creeps for the rest of eternity, she thought, shuddering. Just as she’d collected herself and regained her focus, Chloe walked through the door to her lab, Lucifer not far behind. 

Whatever had transpired after Lucifer’s kiss-and-tell moment at the scene had already resolved, both of them seemingly the embodiment of contentedness now. What a relief that was, too. Chloe’d been a little nutso with all her hormones and Lucifer had been pushed, pulled, and dragged through the wringer trying to contort himself into whatever she needed in the moment. It was pretty adorable; Ella knew he was a big softy behind that devilish exterior. 

Lucifer paused in the doorway, reaching out a hand to gently tap Chloe on the shoulder. He flashed the screen of his phone in her direction; "Dr. Linda Martin” appeared below a small photo of the doctor holding Charlie. Chloe and Lucifer exchanged a look that conveyed a question asked and answer given without words. He leaned toward her and she responded in kind, magnets incapable of avoiding the pull of their mate. He planted a chaste kiss to her lips before turning on his heel, phone already at his ear while stepping back into the bullpen. 

If it were possible, Ella was sure she resembled a humanoid version of the heart-eyed emoji. Just watching how easily they interacted, how much they’d softened each other over time -- gentle friction wearing down edges and polishing each other’s surfaces -- this had to be what the love stories looked like after the credits rolled on all her favorite rom-coms.

“Any leads, Ella?... Ella?” Chloe asked.

Ella shyly averted her eyes, snapping herself out of the state of twitterpation she’d momentarily drifted into, focusing once again on the evidence carefully laid out on her lab table. “Uh, nope, not yet. Just got started. Did run his fingerprints through AFIS. No luck there. Just swabbed for DNA so hopefully we get a hit on that, but you know how long that takes.”

Chloe pushed further, “Any missing persons reports that might match his description?” Lucifer reentered the room as quietly as possible, listening carefully to the exchange, hoping to catch up without having to ask the detective to repeat herself. She did anyway for his sake, “Missing persons reports?”

“Nope. Again, nothing. Guy’s like Jason Bourne. In the first movie, obviously.” Ella offered.

Chloe sighed, running her hand through her hair and pinching the bridge of her nose.

Ella apologized, “Sorry, Chlo’. I’m gonna keep going through this stuff until we have something we can use.” 

“No, it’s okay, Ella. Sorry, today’s just been a long day. It’s been a long few weeks really,” resigned Chloe, clearly trying her best not to project her feelings onto the case or the lack of a lead -- and failing miserably.

“You know what?” Lucifer said, splitting the awkward silence that was beginning to manifest. “Dr. Martin has practically been begging me to come in for a session.” Chloe turned, wearing a look of concern and giving him her full attention. “Probably because she needs time away from my insufferable brother and their wailing offspring. Caring for a colicky baby -- part angel or not -- is apparently the stuff of hell loops,” he tsked, “really missed an opportunity with that one.” 

He continued, encouragingly, “As you said, Miss Lopez, the results on the DNA won't be in for some time and I’m sure you ladies could use a break. Love, how about I look after the offspring Friday so you two -- maybe Mazikeen and the Good Doctor -- can all spend some time together. You know, a girls’ night?”

Ella’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, but she stifled her exuberance, waiting for Chloe’s reaction. 

“Yeah. You know, that actually sounds really nice. Even though I can’t drink, it’d be nice to just have a night for some girl talk and a little Tribe time.” 

“Oh man, yes! Thanks, Lucifer. I promise to take good care of her.” Chloe rolled her eyes at Ella’s assurances; she knew full well Chloe didn’t need anyone to look after her, but it seemed like the right thing to say in the moment. 

“What sounds good, Chlo’? I doubt you’re up for a club or anything, maybe we can do something a little more chill.”

Before Chloe could offer something really lame like dinner and a little pampering session, Ella squealed in excitement. “O-M-G. Please, please, pleaasssse can I throw you a baby shower?! Please! I know the last time I tried this it was a disaster, and I’m sorry.. I promise to keep it intimate -- no water polo team or party bus. Totally and completely mellow.” Ella looked at Chloe pleadingly, palms pressed together with fingers steepled. 

Chloe looked over at Lucifer who held up his hands in mock surrender. “Darling, that is up to you, but you know I would never turn down getting free gifts from our friends for the spawn. It’d be kinda fun to see what things they lavish upon us. Makes me a little nostalgic for home, really.”

Rolling her eyes and looking at Ella, Chloe defeatedly replied, “Okay, fine,” before being wrapped impossibly tight in a bear hug from the tiny, but passionate, forensic scientist.

~o0o~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though I haven’t been able to reply to everyone’s comments, I want you to know how much I appreciate and value them. My work can become positively insane, but reading your feedback gives me so much to look forward to! OneMorePage and I eagerly devour your feedback - please continue to let us know your thoughts!


	4. Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the continued support. Please continue to leave comments. We really love hearing your thoughts and interacting with you. <3 -M&E
> 
> To our readers from OneMorePage - Oh boy, hope you find this chapter...satisfying. :P Sure had a LOT of fun writing it. 
> 
> To our readers from Wordsaremagick - I'm so in awe of the magnificence my co-author wrote for you in this chapter. A lot of "Damn girl!"s were bestowed upon her for this one. I can't wait to see everyone's reactions to this and upcoming events! I'm dying to know your thoughts; keep the comments coming!
> 
> Enjoy!

Table set? Check. Oven on to keep dinner warm? Check. Two bottles of red chilled in preparation for what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation? Check. The realization that she should have just catered this meal, because who the hell has time to make dinner for four, have a full day’s worth of sessions with exhausting clients, and keep a teething, colicky angel baby alive? Check. She was a woman who was used to, and generally preferred, handling life’s daily demands on her own, but still, she had to admit, it wasn’t terrible having someone who asked to shoulder some of the responsibilities. 

It was new, and a little strange. Linda didn’t have to ask or remind him; Amenadiel simply _did._ It was a foreign concept, after having to, for so many years, ask, nag, cajole, and occasionally, bribe, Reese into the simplest of tasks. To be treated as a partner, with equal share of responsibilities, well… she was a little afraid she would become used to it. Having that reassurance was especially comforting on occasions such as these, when the evening’s plans held a hidden agenda certain to require all of her expertise -- clinically, of course, but also as a confidant and insider in the careful navigation of celestial agreements of mortal consequence. 

Her oath to her patients had never been so complex before Lucifer had appeared in her life. From the very start, their relationship had been the opposite of professional. Their friendship made her job as his doctor very difficult at times. Too many lines she shouldn’t cross, yet somehow always did. At least this time, she could ease some of her conscience. She wasn’t betraying his confidences… she was just ensuring he had the optimal setting to act on some of the advice she had given him. Knowing that he wouldn’t take it unless he had the immediate opportunity and an insistent, albeit informal, chaperone. Like now.

Linda checked the time on her wristwatch - hey, she’d met her standing goal for the day - and hurried to the end of the hallway, nearly running into Amenadiel as he turned the corner. “He’s down,” he smiled proudly, he’d really gotten the hang of the whole father thing. She whisper-yelled, “Oh good, they’re going to be here any minute!”

“Okay,” Amenadiel answered, his voice low and soothing, “It’s going to be fine.”

She started to tell him she didn’t need him to tell her to calm down, but stopped, relaxing into his touch. His hands coasted down her arms, terminating in a gentle squeeze at her elbows. Moving together in stride, they made their way back to the kitchen for one final check on the meal before hearing a faint knock at the door, followed by the piercing tone of the door bell.

As Linda approached the door, she could hear muffled voices in argument. Chloe no doubt admonishing Lucifer for using the doorbell at such a late hour, knowing better -- or at least should have -- that Charlie was a light sleeper and they’d been having a heck of a time getting him to fall asleep, let alone stay asleep. Oh, he’d soon learn.

Moving quickly, she opened the door and greeted them with a wide smile. “Hi! Come in, come in! Dinner is just about ready.” 

Chloe and Lucifer paused in their conversation and Chloe stepped over the threshold with a friendly smile. “Thank you for having us over, Linda.”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure, really,” she insisted, ushering her inside, glancing over Chloe’s shoulder to acknowledge Lucifer, whose reticence was plainly visible in both his posture and the forced smile he offered as he entered and made his way toward the kitchen.

“Amenadiel,” he greeted his brother matter-of-factly.

The large man nodded in reply. “Luci, it’s great to see you.” He went to pour Linda a glass of the wine waiting at the sideboard and gestured for Lucifer to help himself. Rather than follow suit, Lucifer reached into his waistcoat and removed his flask, opening the top and upending it in one fluid motion. Only, the typical abbreviated swig he’d often indulge every now and again was traded for a lengthy drag and a hurried motion to return the canister to the confines of its pocket just as Chloe and Linda made their way to the island. 

“So, who’s hungry? We’re doing this family style. Table is set, please help yourself and grab a seat,” Linda suggested.

Over the course of the next half hour or so, the group swapped stories recounting their days at work and catching up on all the new things Charlie had been learning or doing. Rolling over and tummy time was apparently riveting for parents, but not as exciting for their guests. Sensing a lull, Linda reached for the open bottle on the table only to be disappointed to find it nearly empty. 

“So, Lucifer. You’ve been a little quiet tonight. How about you? Anything new going on?” Linda pressed, failing miserably to convey nonchalance. 

If at all possible, Lucifer’s expression became even more uncomfortable. He excused himself from the table, walking over to uncork the second bottle. “Not really,” he answered, back still turned away from the others. “We started a new case,” he offered. “Most likely murdered by a hooker.” He poured himself a tall glass and downed it all in one breath.

“Uh-huh, so Chloe said,” Linda acknowledged, “I was thinking more, I don’t know... personal?” she queried.

Skipping the formality of a glass altogether, Lucifer pressed the neck of the bottle to his lips and chugged. “Well,” Lucifer began, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, words uncharacteristically slurred, “the Detective was generous enough to give me a little road head on the way over. So that was an unexpected treat.” 

“Oh, my God!” Exclaimed Chloe, absolutely mortified. “What is the matter with you!?” 

“Absolutely nothing, Darling. And there is no reason to bring my Dad into this— I think you quite enjoyed that aperitif. Spitters being quitters and all that.” 

“Lucifer. Stop talking,” Chloe advised, tightly.

Amenadiel sat completely still, palms flat against the surface of the table, eyes wide in complete disbelief of not only the exchange that was taking place, but also Lucifer’s apparent intoxication. 

“Oh, you know how to shut me up if you really wanted, Detective.” Lucifer grinned, running his tongue suggestively over his lips and shooting a poorly executed wink, which was much closer to a blink, in her direction.

Chloe’s eyes widened, and for a moment, Linda was fearful that someone was going to be stabbed. “Lucifer… are you… drunk?”

When Linda had suggested Lucifer consider imbibing with some liquid courage prior to coming over, she hadn’t bargained for him to have this much of a head start. She knew of his newly acquired mortality, but she couldn’t have dreamed his tolerance for alcohol would have been this compromised. His demeanor at Lux several days prior suggested that not much had changed with regard to his preternatural abilities. He had his strength, his temper, even his Devilish voice and crimson eyes, but apparently big, bad Lucifer was now a bit of a lightweight.

“Of course not!” Lucifer protested, but his words ran together a little too quickly, and his step, approaching the table, was a trifle unsteady.

Chloe took a deep breath, watching him carefully. “What the _Hell_ is going on!?”

“Buh-dum, tiss.” Lucifer exhaled, playing air drums. 

“Lucifer…” Linda said reprovingly. 

“You’re completely out of line, Luci. What has gotten into you?” Amenadiel followed. 

Shaking his head slightly, Lucifer dropped down into his seat. Leaning forward, he pegged Linda and Amenadiel with a pointed finger. “Oh, very good...Let’s just everyone take a shot! Come on, have a go! Let’s see how well this newly-mortal body will hold up to being triple-teamed. It’s been a while since I’ve had a good gang bang. Who’s first!?” 

A collective gasp cut the tension in the room like a knife. Linda definitely did _not_ see this being the way the conversation would unfold. With an abbreviated sound that managed to express frustration, anger, and embarrassment, Chloe let the fork in her hand clatter when it hit the plate. She met Linda’s eyes across the table. “Thank you for dinner,” she said, stiffly. “I think it’s time for us, or maybe me, to go.” 

“Oh, no — Chloe,” Linda began, but Chloe was shaking her head.

“I don’t know what is going on with you tonight,” Chloe said, looking down at Lucifer, “but I’m not going to sit here and be humiliated.”

She turned for the door, ready to collect her coat and leave. 

“Chloe!” 

Linda knew he didn't often call her by her first name in front of company. She was always “Darling,” or “Love,” or “Detective.” So, it was already jarring to hear him call out to her, but hearing him call out to her _that_ way was startling to them all. Chloe froze mid-stride, as Amenadiel made a move toward Lucifer, who was clearly distressed. Linda caught Amenadiel’s look of concern, but she shook her head in reply, signaling for him to not interfere.

“Please don’t go. I… I’m sorry. Please.” The panic in his voice was absolutely heartbreaking. 

Chloe turned around, slowly, and met his eyes, though she was clearly upset. “What is going on, Lucifer? You’re acting like...”

“Like I’m human?”

“Well, I was going to say a child, but…wait, _what?_ ” 

“I think we should all have a seat.” Linda motioned to Chloe, reaching out to take her hand. Chloe reluctantly pulled the chair out and slowly sat back down. “Lucifer, it’s time,” the doctor encouraged.

“Time for what exactly?” blurted Amenadiel with disapproval. Silently, Linda laid a hand on his arm. Lucifer needed to say what had happened, just as much for himself as everyone else.

Lucifer sighed defeatedly, steadied himself as best as he could and looked directly at Chloe, “When you _di_ -... when I asked you to come back…” There was a pregnant pause while he searched for the right words. “I didn’t know how to tell you…”

“Tell me what? We’ve been through this. Enough! No more secrets, _what_ is it?”

“Dad wouldn’t let you go…,” he paused, clearly struggling with the memory, “Not just you, He hasn’t ever permitted a soul to come back, but if I could persuade you to return to the earthly plane, to leave behind a heavenly paradise, and return to me and our friends and our life together…well, He’d not prevent it.”

Chloe reached across the table, placing her fingertips gently on Lucifer’s clasped hands. 

He tensed, “But...I had to, to...If I were asking you to give up immortality for me; well, it’d only be fair if I had to as well,” he said, eyes fixed on their hands. 

~o0o~

The drive home was suffocatingly quiet, weighed down by the words that spilled out of Lucifer’s mouth at Linda’s dinner table. He hadn’t wanted to share this revelation so abruptly with Chloe and certainly had wished he’d been in a better state to deliver the information with at least a bit more tact. Despite his best intentions, he’d only managed to disappoint her again.

He stole a sideways glance at her from the passenger seat, where she was briefly illuminated by the lights of a passing vehicle. She hadn’t spoken much since his admission, communicating instead only in slight nods, the occasional furrow of her brow, a gentle squeeze of his hand. Perhaps to Linda and Amenadiel, the scene appeared to have unfolded well, acceptance offered where vulnerability was finally laid bare, unencumbered by pretense and ego. But Lucifer knew her better than that. Her actions were convincing, but the look in her eyes spoke the words she was not uttering. She was in the room throughout the exchange, but she was not fully present. 

And now, in the car, the silence was stifling. Her weight was shifted away from him, her right arm protectively wrapped around herself and the baby. He was all too familiar with this recoil. Now, not simply brought on by fear, at least not the paralyzing kind he’d seen on so many faces before delivering just punishment, this look was much more distressing. Uncertainty read so plainly on her features. 

Dear Dad, what a hash he’d made of it tonight, he thought bleakly. He’d never in a million years… well, far more, but never would he have expected he’d become sloshed by a few nips of liquor and a bottle or two of wine. It made him feel… weak. Was that what he should expect now, limited by a mortal body? 

He looked down at his hand, where it rested on his knee. What other weaknesses would he uncover; what more could he ask her to endure? 

Chloe pulled the Corvette into their private garage outside the loft, and the gentle hum of the engine turned off, punctuating what Lucifer hoped would be the end of the oppressive quiet between them. He was not that fortunate; silence remained as she helped usher him into their bedroom on his still unsteady legs. 

“Chloe…” he started to speak, but was interrupted. 

“Lucifer, it’s been a long night. I just...I just think I want to take a shower and go to bed.” 

He looked at her apologetically and nodded in resignation as he began to clumsily divest himself of his jacket and waistcoat. She busied herself about the room before making her way to the master bathroom, shutting the door without so much as a glance in his direction. 

Lucifer startled awake to darkness, lying on top of the duvet, still partially dressed, and alone in their king-sized bed. No longer feeling the fuzziness brought about by his earlier uncharacteristic inebriation, but very much aware of Chloe’s absence, he followed the faint glow from down the hallway to find her curled up in Trixie’s bed. He understood she might need some space to digest all that had taken place just a few hours before, but he was already missing her. 

With a soft sigh he pressed into the room, tiptoeing as quietly as he could manage. He watched her sleep for a moment, thankful to see that the muscles at her jaw and along her brow had finally relaxed, before pulling the afghan from the foot of the bed over her bare legs, and leaving her to rest peacefully amidst the sea of plush stuffed animals that adorned her daughter’s bed. 

In the early hours of the morning, Lucifer sensed her presence before he felt the dip of the mattress as she crawled beneath the silken sheets on her side of the bed. There was still some distance between them physically, but somehow just her proximity served as a salve to the struggles of the long night prior. The soft curve of her waist and hips was just barely visible through the darkness. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch, to draw her close to him, to envelop her and assure her by his hold alone that nothing would change, nothing that mattered at least. She, too, must have had the craving; without moving her body, he felt her hand reach behind her to pull him close.

His chest to her back, Lucifer placed a kiss to her bare shoulder and nestled himself closer to her, relishing her exhalation as she melted into him. For a while they lay there naked, quietly synchronizing their breaths, exchanging warmth, and settling further into each other’s outline. For every unanswered question, these moments of skin to skin served as unfailing reminders of the certitude of their fated connection. Explosions of hope to light the darkness and lead the way back home. 

They were so tangled up, limbs intertwined, bodies slotted together perfectly, it was hard to know what was hers and what was his own. She felt so good. Lucifer was content to just hold her through the night for as long as she’d permit, quietly and without expectation, but the subtle roll of her hips and the slight tension building along her sides and in her shoulders made clear that her desire had not been lost in the chaotic silence and stillness of the night. 

He gave her free movement without loosening his hold on her frame. He listened intently to her breath quickening in tandem with the speed of her grinding her bottom against him, using their intertwined legs for the leverage she was desperately seeking. Lucifer was doing his best to remain still, to allow her the use of his body without giving in to his own desperate desire to touch her before he was sure that was what she wanted and needed of him in this moment. 

His tentativeness had barely any time to settle before he felt Chloe’s soft but determined hand snake behind them to find the flesh of his backside, nails digging in possessively and encouraging him to thrust his hips against her more deliberately. He couldn’t see her, but could feel her warm breath washing over his face as she turned her head to draw nearer, seeking his mouth. 

A singular, deep moan fractured the silence that filled up the room; pleasure escaping lungs, uniting in the cavern of mouths, and reverberating through the walls of their throats in unison. They maintained their steady rhythm grinding into each other, his hand drifting up to cup her face to deepen the kiss. She pulled away from him to pull in air and he sank his mouth along her neck and behind her ear, peppering the delicate skin there with teasing nips and soft sucks. Chloe arched her back causing her to rut particularly forcefully into Lucifer, already stiff and ready. 

As his large hands glided down her body, feeling her in the darkness, he let his fingertips trace the curve of her jaw, brush against her kiss-swollen lips, and clumsily slip inside her mouth to rub against the bottom row of her teeth. She was eager, craning her neck to touch, suck, and taste whatever she could reach while still completely ensconced in his embrace and never ceasing the intoxicating rotations of her hips. Using the fingers wetted by her mouth, he teased her, trailing the tips featherlight across her collar bones and between the cleavage of her breasts, before stopping to stroke her nipples, hard and swollen in ecstatic anticipation. 

Every mewl that she unleashed, even those she tried to stifle to preserve the delicateness of the silence surrounding them, reassured him of his place in her world. Yes, he was different now. He’d given up eternity to keep her with him, and he’d give it and so much more over and over again even if he could not have followed. Just the knowledge that she’d live, that their child would come into this world, loved and protected, even if he was granted no part in the process, that was it. That was all that truly mattered. 

His entire universe existed beneath the taut flesh of her stomach, nestled deep in her womb. Even if someday they fell apart, if she’d stop loving him, or stopped choosing him, he’d not regret his deal with Dad for a moment. But tonight she _had_ chosen him; she did, and was now, and had so many times before despite the knowledge of who he was, _what_ he was, and now what he no longer could be. This amazing creature in his arms was truly a miracle. 

Chloe’s hand reached between them, seeking to guide him to where he could already feel her warm and wet, snapping him out of his reverie. Lucifer hissed into her neck when her cool hand slid between them and wrapped around him, her thumb running over the crown of his cock. As she attempted to position him to enter her, Lucifer pressed his face deeper into her neck. With a slow shake of his head, he muttered, “Not yet” in a nearly inaudible whisper. 

He would never hold her close enough, touch her skin enough, hear her whimpers and keens enough, taste her breath or body enough; and, _oh_ , all that filled his mind was how desperately he wanted to taste her. 

Lucifer set about to make a reality the fantasy overtaking his thoughts; he slowly and methodically slid his way down the curve of her back alternating open mouth kisses wet with tongue, and the graze of his teeth over each and every vertebrae until he reached the swell of her full ass. There was time for gentleness and there was time to be rough, but one of the many things that kept him so completely enamored with her was how she welcomed both sensations in tandem: accepting pain to heighten pleasure, enduring anguish to magnify satisfaction. 

The moans and breathy sighs that his ministrations had let loose from deep inside her body immediately shot to his groin. He was hard, wanting, and ready, but his focus was completely on her in this moment. This unflinching woman, graceful and passionate, deserved to be taken care of. She bore the weight and pressures of so many different things at any given time, and Lucifer wanted to take that all away, replace all the turmoil with a mindlessness so consuming that all that was left for her to do was to fixate on the physical. 

And he knew physical. Each gentle kiss or soft stroke with his fingertips was paired with a possessive grip of the flesh at her thighs. Sensing where he was headed, Chloe shifted her body, attempting to roll from her side to her back so that she could -- no doubt -- unfold her legs and give him complete access to where she wanted him the most. He had other plans, however; she needn’t think, she needn’t consider the mechanics or anything else but the pleasure that was coming to her. 

Before she could right herself, Lucifer forced her legs back together, wanting to keep her on her left side, and with a firm hand on the crook of her knee, hiked her right leg up to expose her sex to his eager mouth. He didn’t give in just yet; he wanted to stall satisfaction just a little longer, to place delicate kisses along the expanse of her hips and thighs, to smell and feel the warmth radiating from her folds. With a hot exhale between her legs and an equally tantalizing inhale, Lucifer felt Chloe’s body respond as goosebumps rose along every inch of her muscular, toned legs. 

Her ragged breaths only spurred his own desires and although his hands held her in place, he was unable to prevent her insistent movements. Her back was arched and her hands, incapable of being idle, traced the path his lips had already been. Her mouth, her neck, between her breasts, and down her stomach. She was using the lingering moisture from his mouth to map her way to touching him in the darkness that surrounded them. 

He wondered if he was almost out of her reach when he felt the palm of her hand meet his chin. Exploring the terrain of his face and neck with only her hand, she weakly grasped his ear before creeping fingers established a stronger hold on the hair at the back of his head. She writhed and contorted her body to pull him closer to her. The growl that escaped his throat in response surprised even him. Unable to hold back his own desire, Lucifer plunged his mouth against the layers of flesh bunched between her legs, using his astute tongue to cleave through the delicate skin soaked in her essence. 

On the drive home he’d allowed his melancholy to persuade him into believing his mortality had already made him weak, but the feeling of his mouth pressed against her washed away that notion in an instant. Every movement of his tongue against her lower lips worked to replace his self-doubt. Every moan and breathy utterance of his name in fractured syllables, every tightening muscle, every shift of her weight to press herself into him seeking more contact, more pressure, more of him...just _more;_ she made him feel the most powerful being in existence. Delivering to her this deep pleasure, allowing him the gift of tasting her and touching her there...well, he’d battle a million demons -- mortal or not -- just on the promise of one more minute basking in his very own personal Eden kept hidden between her legs.

Chloe was coming hard, breathing heavily, gripping his hair tightly to the point of being pleasantly painful, her body overtaken by tremors brought on by the forcefulness of the pleasure given to her by just his mouth. The scream that fell from her lips as she climaxed penetrated the quiet in the room and ignited in him the feral instincts of the Beast he once was. As she attempted to pull him up to her by the grasp she still had on him, Lucifer resisted. Unable to speak, mouth and tongue still busy, but able to convey his displeasure in muffled protestations, he set about to lap at her, capturing the remnants of her release.

Chloe was persistent, stubborn even, and did not cease her attempts in dragging him back up to her. One way they matched each other was in bullheadedness. With a shake of his head, he loosed her grip on him and pulled away, making it impossible for her to touch him. Dead-set on proving his point, Lucifer slinked off the bed, coming to kneel at the foot just out of her reach and bent his body so that he was eye-level with her once more. A whimper in the dark and a plea, “I want you. I want you inside me.” And, damn, if that wasn’t the sweetest thing he’d heard in a millennia, but he wasn’t done tasting her. With matched desperation, “No. _Please_ , _not yet_.” 

Chloe whined, expressing equal parts impatient disappointment, abbreviated satisfaction, and blissful anticipation. That sound alone was almost enough for him to abandon his course altogether to give her what she wanted. After the events of the evening, he wanted to take his time with her and make certain she knew, with every movement of his body, just how easily she commanded his efforts and had his complete devotion. 

From his kneeling position at the foot of the bed, Lucifer took hold of her by the anchor of muscle and bone where hip met thigh. With renewed pride in his inherent devilishness, and an uncontrollable desire to give the gorgeous woman lying exposed to him every bit of pleasure she could handle, Lucifer forcefully pulled Chloe’s body to the edge of the bed. Her startled yelp spurred the predatory nature in him that was only just beginning to break through the surface of layered uncertainty from hours before. 

With her ass and cunt now tantalizingly exposed at just the right height, in one possessive motion, Lucifer forced both her legs up so that she was tightly coiled in the fetal position on her side and dove into her wetness once again with unfettered enthusiasm. It was mere moments before she tipped over the edge into ecstasy for a second time. The screams of pleasure he'd wrenched from her before, were this time lost and replaced instead with stuttering exhalations that escaped with every aftershock that shook through her. 

Before she could come down from her high, Lucifer set about to convey his presence with reminders of him she’d not only feel, but also see in the mirror for days to come. Placing a love bite to the accessible flesh of her inner thigh, Lucifer stood up and leaned over her as she tried to calm her breathing, still heaving and gasping for air. His uncharacteristic tentativeness had expired with his inebriation, replaced with a drunkenness of a different sort as he navigated the landscape of her body, laying claim with each deliberately placed bite and suck of skin along her hip, her side, and to the sensitive skin at her ribs. 

Chloe’s body couldn't help but react to the confidence that was finally reemerging in him. Each bite elicited a needy moan in reply. Pressing his rock hard erection into her still-sensitive skin and delivering another nip to her flank, this time soothed by the slick surface of his tongue, Lucifer was momentarily caught off guard by the glorious words that fell breathily from her lips, “Fuck. Lucifer, yes!”

He continued his sweet torture until he finally reached the delicate skin at her throat. With one more bite and determined suck, Chloe snapped back to awareness, cupping his head in both of her hands to still his movements and wordlessly command his attention. 

And, then, “You’ve got me. I’m here, not going anywhere. Take what _you_ need. Take it and don’t be gentle.” 

Upon reception of that most arousing invitation, Lucifer saw her features, nearly indiscernible in the darkness throughout most of their interlude, come into full view set alight in hues of crimson. The fire manifesting in his eyes illuminating the face of his eager lover, offering herself to him, accepting him, and bidding him to seek out his own pleasure now, to use her however he so desired. The last he saw: the hint of a smile on her lips, as her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. 

With a strong grip on her right shoulder, he forced her to roll onto her back, but kept her legs folded at her side. Lucifer snaked his other hand through the crevice at her hips and held her lower body by the strength of just his right arm. Without ceremony or warning, he slammed into her. Chloe bucked and squealed at the uncomfortable but equally intoxicating sensation of him bottoming out and hitting deep inside her.

A wicked roll of her hips, a second invitation, and he set about pounding into her with reckless abandon. Their combined moans and sighs filled up time and space as the dawn’s morning light crested over the horizon and leaked in through the windows of their room. As he vigorously chased his own pleasure, he watched her hands desperately seeking stability anywhere she could find it, grasping at the sheets and reaching for the headboard to give her something to hold onto, to provide her the counterbalance needed to feel deeper every push of him as he drilled into her, quite literally, the reminder that mortal as he may now be, he’d always be her Devil. 

~o0o~


	5. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is all Wordsaremagick and it's brilliant. Seriously, guys... this might be my favorite chapter she's ever written and we know how amazing all 40 chapters of All Part of His Plan was. Be safe, wash your hands, and enjoy!

At the kitchen island, Trixie licked the last scoop of chocolate batter from the mixing spoon. “Okay, you win. This really is better than the box stuff,” she told Lucifer.

“Ye of little faith,” Lucifer replied, and after setting the kitchen timer, leaned on the granite countertop beside her. “Just wait until they are actually brownies.”

Their secret ritual of late-night treats, generally of the chocolate variety, began a few weeks before Lucifer and Chloe had run the Excommunication killer to ground, purely by happenstance. When Lucifer couldn’t sleep, he often settled at his piano until his mind calmed, unhurriedly sipping a fine liquor, fingers drifting aimlessly through melodies. It was on a night such as this when he’d been startled by the presence of the Detective’s offspring.

He hadn’t heard her approach, and mildly flustered, tried to shoo her back to bed. Instead, she’d poured herself a glass of water using one of his pre-Prohibition crystal lowball glasses and inched next to him on the piano bench. When he took a drink from his glass, she did as well. Looking at her with consternation over the rim, he swallowed half its contents and set the drink on the glossy wood, watching her carefully stretch to reach the piano’s surface and cautiously scoot her tumbler to sit mirroring his.

Not knowing what to do, and finally deciding that she would tire of sitting there if he simply ignored her, he attempted to lose himself in soothing music. But she asked questions. So he told her names, and then sometimes stories to accompany them.

“Isn’t Judy Garland the one who was Dorothy?” Trixie asked, catching his attention after a brief period of comfortable silence.

“Yes,” Lucifer answered.

“She sang ‘Over the Rainbow’. It’s very pretty. Mom used to sing it to me,” Trixie continued.

He couldn't recall ever hearing the Detective sing. At least, not sober. How odd, he mused. He eyed the little girl beside him, recalling her seraphic tones, and wondered if she’d inherited the trait from her mother.

Resuming their conversation, he told her what Judy Garland had been like when he had known her, from her vivacious youth to her moodier years. Pausing there, he stopped, uncertain. She hadn’t lived long enough. Between the demands of her career and depression, disappointments in love, and motherhood, she had been overwhelmed to the point of surrender.

“I don’t know how to do it either,” he muttered, feeling an uncharacteristic sympathy at the realization that for the first time in his existence, he was about to embark into uncharted territory. For the first time, it wasn’t met with the unconcerned excitement of a jaded immortal, but with true, overwhelming fear that he would disappoint, err, unforgivably, irrevocably. 

Peering at him with concern in her kind brown eyes, Trixie asked, “What?”

“Being a parent,” he answered before reconsidering it. As he’d recently, and reluctantly, explored with Dr. Linda, his own father-son relationship was hardly a sterling example. He had never pleased his Father. He doubted it was even possible, and he’d long ago abandoned the desire. If he couldn’t even be a good son, what chance did he have of being a good father? Would he, in turn, repeat the past and push his son away?

A movement in his peripheral vision, and then Trixie was patting his hand. “You’ll be okay, Lucifer. I’ll help you.”

At first, he’d nearly rolled his eyes at her naive offer, but on the occasions she snuck downstairs, he didn’t protest, allowing her to stay while he played (except for on school nights -- he learned that the hard way). If he didn’t talk, then she did, rambling about school, or friends, or the Douche. Not that she called him that, of course. 

He’d recently taught her to play poker, and had since quickly learned not to spot her any starting funds. Quite the natural, she’d steamrolled him immediately. Luckily, she agreed to sometimes take her winnings in chocolate.

Presently, he was baking gourmet brownies for just such a reason. Trixie, having finished savoring every last swipe of chocolate batter, pushed the bowl aside and asked, “So I’m getting a little brother now?”

“It appears that way,” Lucifer confirmed. “But never mind that. You and I have plans to concoct. Or do you no longer wish to help me surprise your mother?”

“I do, I do!” Trixie hastily assured him.

He gave her a firm nod. “Then let’s get back to it. Remember, everything will be set up over there…”

~o0o~

Closing the front door of the loft behind her, Chloe spied Lucifer and Trixie huddled at the kitchen island. At the sound of the door clicking shut, they both looked up at her a little guiltily. Raising an eyebrow as she entered, depositing the two large gift bags of baby accessories tied with blue balloons by the hallway, she asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, Monkey?”

Hopping from the stool, Trixie flashed her mother an innocent smile — which didn’t fool her for an instant — and quickly said, “Sorry, Mom. I’ll get into pjs now,” before scurrying upstairs.

There was no point in admonishing either one of them, although Lucifer knew when Trixie’s bedtime was supposed to be, and the evidence of their late-night snack was in plain sight. With a sigh, she silently hoped Trixie would remember to brush her teeth without needing to be reminded. Easing onto the recently vacated stool, Chloe kicked off her flats.

“Brownie?” Lucifer offered, all guile.

She shook her head and, elbows on the counter, propped up her chin in her hands. 

“Have a good time?” he asked, transferring the plates.

Humming noncommittally, she absently brushed away a few stray brownie crumbs. The impromptu baby shower with the Tribe had left her feeling out of sorts. It was one thing to be a touch more  _ emotional _ of late, but this crept below the surface, where it wasn’t so easily managed.

The party Ella had thrown had been demonstrative of her general enthusiasm and zest for life, throwing her energy into every aspect of the celebration. Baby balloons and cupcakes had only been the start of it. Ella had also amassed an assortment of baby shower games, ranging from blind taste-trials of mushy baby food to guzzling juice - at least in hers - in baby bottles, and even including a competition to identify melted candy bars in diapers. Surprisingly, or maybe not so-surprisingly, Maze had approached the festivities like they were Olympic trials. 

Chloe wasn’t sure she would ever get over the image of the demon-warrior, holding an open diaper to her face, deeply inhaling with the grave concentration of a general about to lead his troops into war. 

Sniffing the next, Ella quickly jerked back, eyeing the bundle suspiciously. “Maze?”

“Yeah?” Maze replied, lifting the next diaper in succession to her nose. She replaced it on the table and made a mark on her paper.

Across the surface of the table, Linda’s nose wrinkled delicately before she rolled the diaper closed and secured it with its side tabs. 

Finishing labeling the diaper in front of her as a Milky Way bar, Chloe reached for the next, only to have Ella grab it first. 

“Maze,” Ella asked calmly, “When I asked you to bring some diapers to help me set this game up, did you bring some of Charlie’s  _ used  _ ones?”

With a tone of complete incomprehension, Maze looked at Ella. “Yeah?”

Linda began gathering up the diapers strewn along the table, balling them up and disposing of them in the trash, as Maze asked, “What? Wasn’t that the point, to guess what it was?”

Ella shook her head. “No, it was to guess the candy bar. It was only supposed to  _ look  _ like… Nevermind. Let’s just play the next game. The person who guesses the most correct number of songs wins.”

“No problem,” Maze said. “After hundreds of years with Lucifer, I know music.”

Grinning, Ella said, “You have to guess the titles of the songs that have ‘baby’ in them. And you might know a lot of music, but  _ I  _ grew up listening to Britney Spears.”

Truthfully, Chloe had loved every moment of it. She’d had a baby shower when expecting Trixie, her mom enthusiastically behind the wheel, but somehow tonight had been much different in comparison. There was a newness that came with Trixie, ceremony and excitement for the first grandchild. This time, the excitement was there, but it was more. 

Older in years and wiser indeed, more exposure to life and its challenges, gifts, and triumphs, Chloe wasn’t going to be a new mom this time, but this child held a promise known by so few. 

The novelty of it was all the more thrilling, all the more emotional, all the more meaningful. This eclectic collection of friends celebrating with she and Lucifer, whose place in their lives was deeper than family, was banded together by not only friendship, but the bond of intimacy of safeguarding this divine secret; a tight-knit, loyal group against the world.

Smiling to herself, Chloe imagined what Lucifer’s reaction would be to the baby clothes she’d received. Their friends had delighted in the double meaning printed on the usually innocuous onesies: one that read “Mommy’s little angel” in a sweet, feminine script, and another in contrast reading, “Daddy’s devil.” Really, had there ever been truer words?

Though it had been fun to play games and open the gifts from their friends, she couldn’t completely banish the concerns that had been collecting in the corners of her mind over the last few weeks, where they could hide in the shadows and creep out to haunt her when she wasn’t expecting it. 

As they had tonight. She’d felt an almost uncanny sense of deja vu to the ill-fated bachelorette party when she’d nearly married Pierce. Cain. No, Pierce, she decided. His identity in her mind would always be fixed in that way. Was it possible to suffer from bachelorette party PTSD?

The reminder of that period in her life, when she’d never before felt so torn, or buffeted, by what others wanted, left her feeling unbalanced. Her brief afiance to Pierce, the riot of indiscernible, volatile emotions, conflicting desires simultaneously pushed her toward Pierce, while also exposing deep-seated and, at the time, still very much unwelcome feelings toward Lucifer, was disastrous. In fact, her first marriage had similar undertones. It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to marry Dan, she just hadn’t necessarily wanted to marry him so quickly. Part of her had been swept away by the romance of it, the illusion painted by the rose-colored glasses of being in love for the first time, to slow down and take stock, to listen to the cautionary voice that said they were both so young, that there was time.

Time would always be a fear, especially now. How ironic that the very thing she had desperately, secretly wanted now frightened her. Lucifer’s mortality, in whatever degree it now was, made her all too aware that she could still lose him at any time. No longer to a throne in Hell, but just as permanent. When she thought about all the occasions and ways he’d foolishly risked his life, her heart nearly skipped a beat. There wouldn’t be another chance, another miraculous save, not with all the close-calls they had shared.

When it had seemed she would never have another chance to explore the depths of feelings, connections, between them, she had seized the opportunity with both hands. Well, she’d really stripped - not only layers of clothes, but pride and fear - and made it very clear how determined she was not to lose a single moment as long as they had it.

In her heart was a war, urging her to embrace that truth and make the most of every moment. It was the teasing glimpses of memory, vague and dream-like, of her experience in Heaven, that she struggled to assemble with more clarity. Her recollections were fuzzy, more impressions of sight and sound. Perhaps there simply weren’t words in existence that could describe it properly. But what she’d felt,  _ that _ she could recognize. First, it had been peace. Joy. Unlike any she’d ever known. Her father’s smile and the familiar weight of his embrace. A small, trusting hand in hers. Soft curls beneath her palm. A calming certainty that everything, everyone, would be together again; complete. 

Then Lucifer stood before her and longing had begun as a seed, reminding her how she loved him and wanted him, then taking root and growing so swiftly it shattered the peaceful contentment, making her question if she would be happy there without him. Lucifer’s eyes shot with despair, kneeling before her, asking, pleading, for her to go with him.

And she had, without hesitation. Needing him, reminded of her earthly life, her daughter, her friends, and knowing there was more for her to live. 

Desire to be here had brought her back, and she couldn’t begin to understand what Lucifer had endured to drive him to Heaven’s gates. 

Not even a few weeks before, she’d literally  _ pounded _ into Lucifer’s brain that she was his, completely, and he was hers unequivocally, regardless of his past - none of that mattered. She wanted him in any way. 

Yet, even as her heart knew all this, it also wondered what the future held. Lucifer had asked her to live a life with him. But was he ready for the mortal meaning of it? A life, knit together by the promise of all the tomorrows to come? Some people defined that as marriage, as she had once, and tonight’s celebration with the Tribe, for all of its fun, had stirred up many memories, making her wonder if Lucifer would ever fulfill that role. Marriage, for real, not as a trumped up disguise? Was she, with a failed marriage and a near-marriage to the world’s first murderer?

And what of the everyday of life without the glamour and excitement he was accustomed to? He loved her absolutely, but was he ready to commit to the realities of dirty diapers and nights of colicky babies?

Even Amenadiel and Maze had struggled with those. The blunt-spoken demon hadn’t meant to leave a scar, but nonetheless her words had cut deep at that damn bachelorette party. “Lucifer’s not the marrying kind” still echoed in her ears. At the time, she’d internalized the cold statement as his inability to maintain a real, intimate relationship, preferring instead a series of shallow sexual encounters. She knew now how false that perception of him was. Their relationship had never been, nor could it ever, be defined so simply, but regardless, it was deep and it was real.

All the same, her brain was stuck on the damn “not the marrying kind.” Her feelings were a muddled mess, frayed by the fears and despair over the last months, the tension that had pulled them closer but strained when they pulled apart, and the Gordian knot twisted by the complexities of their relationship.

Perhaps the answer, she thought, was to take it a day at a time. She had learned her lesson, not to rush. With her hormones and emotions racing from end to the other, knotted together like a ball of string, she wasn’t even sure she fully understood her own anxiety.

A sudden kick from inside her belly pulled her from her thoughts and she smiled, pushing back against the little foot gently with the palm of her hand. “Lucifer,” she said quietly, calling his attention, and he looked up from his phone.

Beckoning him to come closer, she took his hand and rested it on her belly. They only had to wait a few moments before the baby moved again, stretching in his confining quarters, and his foot extended, visibly pressing against her skin. 

It was one of those bizarre feelings during pregnancy that was somehow both amazing and perturbing. Chloe looked up from their hands to catch his expression. Lucifer was staring with fascination, feeling each little bump, and gaze so intent it was as if he was trying to see, beneath their hands, through to the baby inside her.

Yes, she thought, watching him. One day at a time. Everything that had transpired over the last few months had been life-altering. Earth, Hell, Heaven, murderers, prophecies, babies, angels, demons. Her life, and the words with which she defined it, had changed so quickly and radically. For all that, she couldn’t deny that it had brought her immeasurable happiness. She loved Lucifer. Loved this. And a month ago, when he’d casually considered marriage as a safety measure, her heart, foolishly, had squeezed, before her brain had caught up to the cause. Maybe now it could be possible, once they both had the chance to adjust. 

There was still the baby on the way, after all, and work and cases… Chloe’s eyes fell on the abandoned brownie plate, and with a small, subtle smile curving her lips, ran a fingertip through the chocolate icing. Licking her finger, she savored the rich sweetness on her tongue, and looked up to see Lucifer‘s attention was fixed on her. Her cheeks warmed and beneath her skin, a slow, sinuous river of heat began to spread. 

She dared to swipe another bit of icing; his eyes, riveted on her, fell to her lips. Remembering another night that had also involved a sweet, sticky exploration, with long and lazy tastes of honey drizzled upon her skin…

“You know,” she offered, “this is pretty good. It’s a shame there isn’t more.”

Lucifer, expertly reading her thoughts, smiled sinfully. “Well,” he answered in a low voice, “I can always make more…”

With a smile of her own, Chloe headed for the stairs to tuck Trixie in for the night. “Don’t take too long,” she said.

~o0o~

As clubs went, this definitively qualified as one of the seedier in Southeast Los Angeles, but I preferred it to many of its overly-priced and pompous cousins closer to Downtown. Though inside it was dressed to achieve comfort and encourage indolence and languor with shadows and dim glows, plush cushions and dark corners, its outer facade revealed it for what it really was: a hole cut into the texture of brick walls along the boulevard; a pocket of distraction amid the busy streets and alleyways.

Despite its humble form, it was comfortable, and few patrons bothered those who sought solitude. I enjoyed places such as these, amused by the human folly around me. Men and women, already walking down the paths to their final destination, even now building their prisons of guilt and despair. Without realization, every empty day and pursuit of distraction piling and piling until a cage of regret was erected, encapsulating an eternity. If they only used their time more wisely, not taking the gift of life for granted… Wasted, pitifully wasted.

At the bar sits a pair of old men, gazes locked on the bright electric screen hanging above the rows of glass bottles, while in a corner booth a few young twenty-somethings giggle over a pitcher of beer. Across the span of the room, two young bucks tried to impress their dates, slamming pool balls with unnecessary force for the satisfaction of hearing the orbs crack, pointless proof of their power, but not prowess. All throwing time away in pointless endeavors to kill boredom and disappointment, avoiding actively changing their fate. Harnessing their desires to satisfy their souls.

Well, I won’t be banished to a cage for a life spent in regret. No, even if such a construct could hold me. My plans are already taking form, gaining traction. Now I only need the tools with which to carry them out. I can be patient. I have eternity, after all. I need only to wait to acquire the right souls… for although I possess the secret ways and spells, the slivers of magic Azazel taught man so long ago, they require the lodestone to work. Divinity.  _ That _ pure essence I do not own. The shadow of a piece inside me is not strong enough to execute my will.

But in every human lies a spark of the divine, the piece of God’s soul that he shares with His children. Fragmented, but with the right number of vessels, able to cast a bright enough light to refract this reality. So for now, I watch, and wait. The human souls I bring to my purpose must be chosen carefully.

Finishing the last dregs of my gin and tonic, I got ready to leave, shrugging on my jacket. Outside, the chill of the wind sweeping in from the water kicked up a pile of rubbish in the dark alley beside the bar. Voices carried over; a woman’s, higher with anxiety and protest.

“No, I really think I should just call an ub—“ she began.

A male voice interrupted. “You don’t need to do that. I’ll get you home.”

The breeze took the next words away, but for some reason I lingered at the corner, curious.

“Did Jillian and Nate leave already?”

“Yeah, but I can take you home, baby.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, and then she said, “No, thank you, I’m good.”

Hovering between one moment and the next, I waited to see the voices appear around the corner. When another beat passed without change, I crossed the shadowed threshold.

A pair from the group playing pool in the bar stood awkwardly against the side of the alley. Backed against the brick, the woman’s eyes darted over to me, and in them I read a hint of panic. That was all I needed to know.

“Go on,” I told her softly.

The young woman, pushing her hair behind her ear, edged against the wall until she could slide free of the dark space, made threatening by unspoken force. She glanced back for a brief instant, and then disappeared around the corner, into the well-lit main thoroughfare.

“What the fuck?” the man asked. No more than a boy, really, I mused. Emboldened with alcohol and self-image, and like so many others, happy to take from others to fill the insatiable void inside himself.

Coming closer, I answered, “I don’t think she wanted to go with you.”

“Who asked you, bitch?” Intoxication blossomed in his cheeks and bright eyes. 

It wasn’t necessary to put him down, but the world could do with less of his kind. The mindlessly hungry predators who would never, ever see reason. 

“I’m sure you could find something better,” I assured with a secretive smile. He allowed me closer, dangerously close. 

I placed a hand against his chest, his warmth radiating against my palm. It took no more than a few steps for him to willingly position himself between the brick and myself.

“But,” I murmured quietly so that he would have to lean closer, focus on my mouth to hear my words closely, “you won’t have the chance. There is no ‘better’ for animals like you.” With no more than a single, slight whisper of steel, I brought the dagger up to his ribs, neatly sticking him like a roast pig.

Cleaning the evidence from the blade and returning it to its hidden pocket, I made sure the view from the alleyway revealed nothing. I walked back the way I had come and was surprised to see the young woman standing outside the bar, staring down at her phone.

She straightened as I made to pass by and, her voice afraid to rise above a cautious murmur, said, “Thank you… I didn’t want to go with him.”

“I could tell,” I replied drily.

She bit her lip, her eyes drawn past the building again, then returned to mine. “Logan’s not a bad guy. But I really needed to go home, and I didn’t think he wanted to just drop me off and say good night.”

“No, I don’t think he would have been satisfied with such a mundane end to his evening.”

“Did he bother you?”

I snickered softly. “No. Not at all.”

She nodded. “Good. Well. Like I said, thanks.”

Ready to leave, I paused again when she spoke, not caring if I showed irritation. I was already wishing I hadn’t spent my time.

“I have to get home to my daughter,” she said. “I was going to ask if you wanted to share an Uber or something? As, y’know, thanks?”

My interest caught, I turned on my heel. The slow smile I gave was genuine. “You have a child?”

“Isabella,” she said, warming even more.

“I absolutely love children,” I said, and linked my elbow with hers, urging her to accompany me down the street. “You can call me Katrina…”

~o0o~


	6. Momentum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer’s excitement, Chloe’s irritation, and what’s that other lady up to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, big typo last chapter. I misspelled the OC’s name, which was supposed to be Karina, not Katrina. I hemmed and hawed over whether to let it go, but finally decided it had enough meaning to me that I should correct it. Thus, sorry for any and all confusion... her name will read ‘Karina’ moving forward... As stated, there is some importance to it, though it’s only because I’m a nerd.
> 
> Also, this was one of those lovely chapters that was pretty much divided down the middle, written, and stitched together. I love the imagery and voice OneMorePage infused. 
> 
> Okay, enough of my diatribe. On with the show!

What a waste, he thought. There were very few times when extravagance and plurality were unwelcome in his life. In fact, in almost every situation he could think of, more was undoubtedly better than less. When he’d entered into the domesticity of his life on Earth and the idea of sharing a house with Chloe and Trixie, he’d not fully embraced this new reality. There was so much of it. All the time. Every day it seemed more and more would stack up, literally. An abundance cluttering every surface -- there every day when he came home, sometimes even on the weekends. 

And, of course, the source of this most-unwelcome barrage was even more disappointing; a strangely common place in many hell loops. Endless lines of people standing in queue impatiently waiting, completely helpless and entirely dependent on the single postal worker whose prickly demeanor was rivaled only by the utter disdain she had for her job. **_Mail_ ** \-- bulk rate to be exact -- was the absolute worst. Lucifer hated it, hated the notion of it, the wastefulness of it, the sheer volume of it was mind-boggling. 

He learned pretty early on that Chloe had only slightly more tolerance for it than he. He happily acquiesced when she offered to manage the mail in the household. He never had to deal with it before; no one mailed the Devil anything. Hell, he dared some collection agency to come after him. Plus, all the elements of his various business endeavors were managed by his loyal demon and a small army of accountants who each owed him any number of favors. 

Truthfully, he never paid it any mind until he stumbled upon one of Chloe’s lingerie magazines. Thumbing through the catalogue, he scoffed at her dog-eared pages that always flagged much-too-tame panty and bra sets. He’d not so discreetly see what else was in fashion and buy her things he knew she would never ever pick out for herself. And sure, of the many times he’d purchased something lacey or with crotchless bottoms, she’d only rarely actually worn them for him and only long enough for him to tear them off of her. That was half the fun of it; and she was starting to come around to his wicked ways.

He spotted the tell-tale branding of alternating blush and hot pink stripes of the latest catalogue peeking out from the stack of mail on their kitchen counter. That’s what initially drew his focus to the stack of mail in the first place. But resting atop the mound of bulk-rate mail and that wonderful little magazine was a yellow bubble-wrapped mailer. He glanced down recognizing the return address as that of Dr. Martino. It’d been weeks since they’d been at the OBGYN and he’d nearly forgotten that he ordered the total package of the 4D ultrasound footage. As much as he loved the places his mind would wander, imagining Chloe in those lacey numbers from Victoria’s Secret, the envelope he was holding was _so much better._

Like a kid on Christmas morning, he held the package up to his ear and eagerly shook it to see if he could “hear” what was inside. Of course, he knew the contents, but it’d always been something he wanted to try. He shook his head incredulously, not understanding the draw of such a silly gesture, thankful no one was home to have witnessed his lapse in judgement. Why wouldn’t the little creatures just succumb to their greedy tendencies and tear the packages to bits like they wanted to in the first place? 

Stifling desire was bred into humans at such a young age. Life was too short, he thought, momentarily dwelling on the gravity of the truth of that statement for himself now, too. He didn’t see any sense in delaying satisfaction; well, maybe under certain circumstances... He chuckled to himself at the thought of the last time he’d driven Chloe to the brink of madness, holding her on the cusp of climax until she was nearly delirious and unable to string even the simplest of words together. Yeah, he nodded to himself, edging was one such occasion where delaying satisfaction was permissible, encouraged even. 

Lucifer tore the mustard yellow envelope open, tipped it upside down, and shook the contents onto the countertop. The first thing to come tumbling out was the DVD case, followed by a steady sprinkling of wallet-sized prints. A tiny hand, an eye brow, a little smirk -- all came together there jumbled up on the marble surface. He was never going to get used to the feeling of seeing that beautiful baby nestled comfortably inside the woman he loved, protected and nurtured, and already loved beyond words. Without hesitation and in one swift motion, Lucifer removed the cling-wrap from the DVD case, made his way to their state of the art entertainment system, popped the case open, and inserted it hastily into the player.

Standing much too close to the 80 inch screen, Lucifer excitedly grabbed the remote control and fumbled with the keys. Just before he could compress the play button an odd sensation wracked through him, he suddenly felt something akin to guilt. The last time Chloe found out he’d watched 3 episodes of Stranger Things without her while she worked late finishing up paperwork, she stopped speaking to him for just as many days. As badly as he wanted to steal a glimpse of his child in high definition, if he even so much as saw one second of the footage without Chloe tucked in closely to his chest...well, he shuddered at the thought of the icy breeze she’d blow his way. 

Self-control. What nonsense. But, then again, this moment _would_ be so much better with her nuzzled up to him, one arm over the back of their couch, the other hand resting lovingly on her stomach. He’d come to realize that sharing things was almost as satisfying as taking things for himself. As he shuffled back to the counter he took stock of the sheer volume of photos he’d purchased. There had to be hundreds of them. Holding one up for a closer look, the bundle of now-deflated blue balloons Chloe brought home from the baby shower a few days prior momentarily came into focus. 

Glancing between the print and the balloons, Lucifer was unable to stop the grin from stretching across his face. Sharing _was_ so much better. 

~o0o~

As Lucifer bounded down the precinct stairwell, a sea of helium in varying shades of blue followed him like a cresting wave bouncing and bobbing off every solid surface in sight. In almost a playful gallop, he waltzed about the bullpen knocking anyone within a 10 foot radius in the face with a bundle of mylar and latex orbs. He danced from desk to desk, officer to officer, hand delivering everyone their very own “Daddy Devil Gram.” 

At each stop he announced excitedly the news of his son with unbridled pride and enthusiasm, depositing before them a curated bunch of at least 10 balloons. For his male colleagues, the bundle was anchored by a fine Cuban cigar wrapped with a baby blue collar and flagged by a 4x6 laminated print of the little Morningstar, recently-discovered protrusion labelled and prominently displayed. For the ladies, a small arrangement of white carnations and the photograph of his little angel’s profile, hand tucked gently up against his face, lips pursed slightly with a devilish smirk already starting to show. 

And, of course, for the most important officer in that room, a stunning bouquet of three dozen blue roses accented with wisps of white baby’s breath crowding her desk. Chloe shielded her face with her hand, simultaneously mortified and finding his exuberant, but undeniably endearing, over-the-top lunacy unsurprising. She shook her head, watching his progression about the building, jovially announcing to anyone with ears the impending arrival. Concluding it must be a masculine trait, this need to have everyone properly awed by evidence of the man’s virility impregnating his woman, she waited it out, trying to remain invisible.

“Detective Decker, my office, please,” barked the voice of the lieutenant from across the room. Chloe winced as she felt the eyes of everyone in the vicinity turn and look at her, attention renewed since Lucifer’s dramatic sweep through the precinct. Great, she thought. 

Obediently, she stood and crossed the room of suddenly busy activity, searching for Lucifer and hoping that she was not about to be reprimanded by the lieutenant for his enthusiastic display. Compared to some of the exorbitant shows he had put on, this exhibit was actually the closest to what could be considered normal. Still, Lt. Sanders did not seem as welcoming of Lucifer’s particular eccentricities as their previous commanders.

Entering his office, she glanced back at the room at large. “Should I get the door, sir?” Chloe asked.

He nodded brusquely, and after closing the door behind her, Chloe took a seat when he motioned.

“Sir, I’d like to apologize for Lucifer’s, well, if…He may be a little too overt at times, I know,” she began.

Lt. Sanders shook his head and turned slightly in his chair, drawing her attention to a massive bundle of blue balloons on the file cabinet behind him. Apparently this display had been contrived with the lieutenant in mind, being that it was easily two or three times the size of the favors he had been handing out in the bullpen, and the balloons were weighted by a peaked officer’s cap. A pudgy cartoon-style baby sat on it, holding a blue baby bottle as big as it was. The baby also wore an officer’s cap and the entire thing was festooned with multitudes of white and blue ribbons. 

How had he managed to sneak _that_ past her?

“No, that is not the reason for… Well, let’s just call this a friendly check-in. I understand your partner’s excitement. Was once a newly-becoming-father myself. Congratulations again.”

A friendly check-in? Chloe felt a frown forming and carefully controlled her expression, smoothing the wrinkle of concern from her brow and relaxing the taut set of her lips. “Thank you,” she answered politely, trying to keep the words from sounding like a question.

There were a few beats of stilted silence before he continued. “How much longer until the - er, arrival?” Lt. Sanders asked, gesturing awkwardly to her stomach.

“I still have most of the third trimester,” answered Chloe. “About eight weeks.”

Lt. Sanders nodded, “Good. Good. What new developments have come up regarding the John Doe in the alley?”

“Nothing, unfortunately. Fingerprints had no match, nor did Forensics find any foreign materials that could identify the victim or the perpetrator. We’ve also been surveying missing persons’ daily, but there are no leads,” she reported.

He folded his hands on the wood’s surface. “Then as long as there are no new avenues to pursue, I have an alternate assignment for you. As it happens, Mr. Morningstar’s gifts were a timely reminder.”

Sensing she would not like whatever the lieutenant had been reminded of, Chloe tensed. “A reminder, sir?”

Sanders hesitated, his mouth parted to deliver his next words, seeming to reconsider his phrasing. “I’m moving you from active cases to precinct-based work. To be exact, I want you to be the face of the department to the public.”

Chloe blinked in surprise and tamped down her initial response of protest, reminding herself she couldn’t actually tell her commanding officer _No._ But she hated office work with a passion. She would rather return to work as a traffic cop, where at least she could feel like she was doing something, having some type of impact out in the world. Paperwork? Desk duty? It was boring, ineffectual tedium.

Before she could formulate a respectful reply, the lieutenant held up a palm. “The truth is that you are only a few weeks from mandatory desk-duty, and the best use of your time is to be here, a face the public trusts. You made headlines with the Excommunication Killer.”

“But sir—” Chloe began to interject, hoping to persuade him that a few more days could yield results in her case.

He shook his head decisively, silencing her argument. Not wanting to come across as insubordinate, Chloe sighed quietly and subsided.

“Unless something concrete comes up, I want you here,” he ordered. “I understand your disappointment, Detective. You’re a doer. You like to be out in the field. I used to feel much the same.” Lt. Sanders leaned back in his chair, and though his tone and expression were implacable, there was an underlying kindness. For the first time in the many months he had been overseeing the precinct, he appeared far less forbidding and unapproachable. His next words surprised her.

“I wasn’t always sitting behind a desk, you know,” he continued. “My own captain worked up the ranks; he was a level-headed man. Reasonable, but expected results. Respected the chain of command. Experienced. I’d like to think I followed his footsteps and run my house with the same degree of performance.”

Unsure where he was leading this conversation, Chloe asked, “Sir?”

“You’re a good detective, Decker. Efficient, collected, thorough, and not without compassion. Moreover, you’re able to manage, as you’ve no-doubt proven with your partner out there.” His eyes flicked, humorously, to the pen where Lucifer had sailed through. “Perhaps someday you’ll advance to more. In so doing, you’ll find that there are times you achieve more in different roles. This is one of those times. Your John Doe is only one of several strange homicides that have cropped up around the greater area in the last few weeks. People are getting anxious. You’ll do more good here.”

In the end there wasn’t much more she could say other than, “Thank you,” and despite feeling somewhat flattered that her hard work wasn’t going unnoticed, Chloe still left his office in a state of aggravation.

As she descended the short flight of stairs, her eyes happened to meet Dan’s. He quickly glanced away, reaching for a file on his desk, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She knew that tell; he was feeling guilty about something.

In a flash, she recalled looking up from her work when Lucifer had breezed in with a whirlwind, with his armful of gifts, and seeing Dan stepping out of Lt. Sanders’ office right into the bundle of balloons, trying to swat his way free of the tangle that Lucifer was in no way helping him get loose from. At the time, she’d released an amused snort and returned her attention to the report she’d been typing. But now…

It would be just like him to have butted in, she thought irritably. Lucifer at least respected her ability to do her job and take care of herself, not treat her like being pregnant had suddenly made her incapable. Even if he overshot the mark sometimes, he never doubted her decision-making or physical limits. When she’d become pregnant with Trixie, however, Dan had switched from equal partner to unreasonable caveman, incessantly cautioning her on her every act, no matter how minuscule. 

Dan intently busied himself, stocky form hunkered towards his desk as if completely engrossed in his work, as if the woman marching toward him had visible steam coming from her ears.

“Oh, don’t you dare, Daniel Espinoza,” Chloe started, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

He peered up at her, expression just a little too innocent to be believed. “What’s up, Chloe?”

“I know you had something to do with this,” she said.

Shaking his head, Dan said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Did you have a conversation with Lt. Sanders?” Chloe waited for his admission. They both knew it would be stupid to deny it when anyone in the room may have seen him in his office. Continuing, she asked, “And did you happen to mention anything related to my upcoming due date?”

Reading the plain outrage on her face, Dan hurried to answer, “Nothing like that, Chloe, I swear. He asked, I answered. That was it.”

“Sure,” she muttered, disbelievingly. "We," as she pointed to her stomach and back to her face, "aren't any of your concern this time. He is not _yours,_ ” she tossed at him, not caring if the words had any power to sting. “You’re not my husband and you have no right to-to—”

Dan stood, clearly fed up. “Hey. I didn’t do anything. Though in _my_ opinion, maybe the guy who _did_ get you pregnant,” he stabbed the air somewhere in the general direction of Lucifer’s location with the file folder he was holding, “should do something to make sure you’re safe! Especially when you’re not being rational!” He stalked away.

Furiously, Chloe stood still, nearly trembling under the wave of anger that washed over her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right by giving in to her emotions. Taking deep breaths, she strove for calm when she heard Lucifer coming up behind her. Deflated, miffed, and feeling a little tired, she turned to face him. 

“Detective?” The smile in his voice faded when he saw her face, and he rubbed a hand up and down her arm soothingly, positioning himself in a way that shielded her from the view of the precinct so smoothly she was hardly aware he did it. “What’s wrong?”

Gently, he traced the line of her jaw with his fingers, and Chloe sighed. “The Lieutenant’s ordered me to desk-duty. And I’m pretty sure Dan either suggested it or dropped enough hints to encourage it,” she said. Remembering the show Lucifer had just made as well, she added a little resentfully, “Of course your reminders didn’t help.”

His palm cupped her cheek with the same degree of delicacy, but a small frown gathered in the notch between his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, love.” He hesitated in a moment of thought and then asked, “Is it so terrible, to only work in the precinct for awhile?”

When she didn’t answer, because she truly wasn’t sure how to answer without sounding either foolish or petulant, he continued. “For what it’s worth, I doubt the Lieutenant’s decision rested on the word of Detective Douche,” he teased.

Chloe sighed, knowing he was right. Lt. Sanders’ decision didn’t come from Dan’s input, or even Lucifer’s grandiose demonstrations. Sanders had made valid arguments about the necessity for her presence in the precinct, whether she liked it or not.

“You can choose to stop working whenever you want,” Lucifer reminded her.

“I don’t want to stop working,” she said, frowning at him. “This is my job. It’s _me._ You know that.”

His smile told her he hadn’t really meant it, and in a huff of exasperation she asked, “And what are you going to be doing? You definitely won’t be of any help with civilians who come in requesting aid or sorting files or evidence.”

Lucifer’s smile turned a little bit wicked and he promised, “Oh, I’ll find ways to be useful. Especially if you need a little break. I can most definitely assist you down in the filing room or the evidence locker.”

His words themselves were innocent and innocuous even, but the playful purr as his voice lowered and the intensity in the hungry way he looked at her provoked a little shiver of excitement. 

“Do you even _know_ where the filing room is?” Chloe asked.

“You should show me again,” he advised.

Taking up nearly the entire expanse of the basement, the filing room consisted of rows and rows of stored cases, evidence, and reports. Many had been digitized already and could be easily accessed via computer, so unless you were taking physical copies down to be safely stored, or digging up files that were decades old, which was rare, there was little more than a sign-in sheet and a security camera at the door. Chloe bet Lucifer could find some ways to get around that undetected. His gift for locks would definitely be well-used.

She bit her lip, already becoming a little flushed at the thought of a little forbidden tryst from a boring, desk-bound day. There weren’t many accommodations in the filing room that would make it particularly comfortable, but her mind’s eye could already see some possibilities.

Oh, yes, she could definitely imagine it. Holding on to a gray metal shelf, easily masked from any intruder’s view by the wall of boxes on each, Lucifer on his knees before her; stepping free of her slacks as his strong hands coasted up her legs, holding her firm and steady, his talented tongue firmly licking against her clit, then teasing her with long, slow sweeps along the seam of her lower lips, before returning to the bundle of pleasure. Flicking it with his tongue until she was quietly begging for him to pick up speed, lick her harder; building her pleasure, closing his lips around her to suck gently, then cruelly abandoning her to the cool air while he began all over again. 

She could picture her fight to keep absolutely silent, her hips instinctively canting in desire to reach more of his mouth, his hot tongue, her fingers finding purchase in his dark hair. She could practically feel him already, the way he nearly devoured her like she was the finest of liquor, stealing into her entrance for the hottest, wettest part of her, spreading her moisture into lazy circles around her clit that drew her crazy with suspended anticipation, all her body’s focus narrowed to one pinpoint of sensation, until every light glancing touch made her whimper for more. And then his fingers would work their way inside her, rubbing against that spot that made her ache for more, for fulfillment, not just to come, but to feel him completely, stretching her; a hard, delicious, unyielding pressure. When she would be ready to break apart, he would finally fill her, cock hard and heavy.

Warm, already wet and feeling her desperate inner muscles tighten in needy response, Chloe licked her lips. Everything, the argument with Dan, the conversation with Lt. Sanders, including whatever Lucifer had begun to tell her about a surprise to cheer her up… all of it went right out of her mind, replaced by the very vivid images of her fantasy. “Yes, I think I should,” she agreed. 

~o0o~

Looking up from brushing the shiny curtain of Isabella’s brunette hair, I tilted my head to the side consideringly, watching the news report flash across the television screen.

“Jennifer?” I called to the woman in the apartment’s tiny kitchen.

“Yes?” 

I admired the child’s glowing locks a last time before placing the brush on the table and retrieving her doll. She giggled sweetly at her Aunt Karina and I smiled back, mimicking the act of her doll giving her a hug and a kiss before she went off to play.

“What is this ‘Me Too’ they speak of?”

Jennifer reappeared around the corner of the kitchen to glance at the tv, bringing lunch to the table. “Oh. It’s like a supportive protest. It’s women who have been, like, sexually assaulted and harassed. The ‘Me Too’ movement is about solidarity.”

“I see,” I said, though it wasn’t completely true. I understood, but reluctantly, one of the silent realities that angered me. Women only now able to publicly voice solidarity, and much, apparently, to the censure and criticism of people such as those shown on the news channel, who sneered and whose tones grated with derision. And a world such as this, God’s great humanity, thought to be civilized, but no more than beasts.

And Isabella, and sweet innocent children such as her, who would grow to be preyed upon, finally cowering in the clothes of conformity to be as they were told to be, shouted down from every direction. Unless they were made strong first. With time, societies changed, but at its core, humanity played by the same game and simply renamed the rules.

Fuck the rules. 

“Like what almost happened to you at the bar?” I asked.

Jennifer’s doe-brown eyes closed briefly, and her face as well as her voice became sad. “Much worse. I don’t know what might have happened that night. But I have more than a few friends who have had far more frightening, or painful, experiences.”

I muttered in my native tongue, one of the words I had created to describe this kind of despicable act. With each day, it was becoming clearer what I must do. How I could achieve what I wanted — nay — deserved. In a poetic, cosmic justice, it seemed I would have my collection of souls, the fountain of divinity from which to nourish my spells. Weaving and harnessing their strength would be an easier matter than I had expected. And I would show them how to live, how to set their souls free, with no rules.

“There will be more mothers at this protest? The ‘Me Too’ movement?”

Next to me, Jennifer blew softly on her mug of tea to cool its contents, and regarded me with surprise. “Probably.”

Decided, I nodded, tasting the mug she had brought me. “Then we will attend. And you will call your friends. Such as Deonne, the one with the sweet baby,” I told her.

~o0o~


	7. Juxtaposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope all of you are healthy and staying sane. Here's a treat to help you get to the weekend. Enjoy!

Sitting on the side of the bed, Maze watched Eve step into her dress and draw the sequined sheath up before she bent forward again to slip on her matching heels.

“Here, let me,” Maze told her, joining her in front of the glass to stand behind her. Obligingly, Eve straightened and gathered her swath of wavy hair over one shoulder for Maze to raise the zipper of her dress freely.

Maze assigned the task far more concentration than necessary, but that seemed to be her default setting since she’d realized the turn her feelings for Eve had taken. Eve peered at her in the mirror with a coy smirk and a satisfied hum. Maze set to task, a measure of avoidance that allowed her just another minute to flee the reality of what was settling deep into her bones each time the afterglow had begun to wane. The more introspection she gave the matter, which was uncomfortable in and of itself, the more Maze was unnerved to find how far back those feelings had existed, hovering in the space beside them, invisible, but always present.

About a year ago when Eve first showed up on Earth again, Maze was immediately taken by her free spirit and unabashed exuberance for living life without any consideration for consequence. When you’re the woman who gave life to all other human beings in existence, it’s kind of hard to sweat the small stuff. And then, when you’ve somehow been assigned all the damn blame for original sin, why not just embrace that identity wholeheartedly? 

Eve’s unrestrained zest for living in the present was infectious and paired so well with Maze’s own lack of concern about anything but chasing her next high in any form it could be garnered: sex, drugs, alcohol, pain. Strangely, connections and feelings had joined that short list, but like all the others, they only filled the hole momentarily. Feelings, as much as she’d grown into them, were still confusing and fleeting at best.

“There. All set,” Maze whispered into Eve’s ear while fastening the clasp resting against her neck. 

If there was a more stunning creature in existence than Eve post-coital with her thick wavy hair all mussed and out of place, irises finally taking back their place in those big doe eyes, lips swollen and smudged with lipstick, Maze hadn’t discovered it yet. And for all her beauty and enthusiasm, something still wasn’t quite right. Maze guessed they had both realized it a while back, but the convenience of each other and the comfort they could bring one another under the covers was a lie they both weren’t willing to confront. Not yet. 

Eve loved to party; there was no doubt about it. And Maze was never one to shy away from debauchery. But as much as Maze had stayed the same - loving the power in violence, enjoying an aggressive romp, craving the feeling of a long hunt -- she’d also matured beyond the parts of her that were owed to a life where pleasing and protecting one person was her sole responsibility, her duty. It served her for a time, but it was becoming apparent to her that the dedication to another wasn't really what she needed to feel herself again. 

Maze’s identity for as long as she’d lived was tied to Him. Well, maybe not in the very beginning. In the very beginning, she was _hers_ . One of millions, a number, progeny without name or purpose. She’d fought hard to earn her place and her mother’s attention and even that was minuscule. Lilith never much adopted that maternal instinct when it came to Maze and the other demons in Hell. Then, He came. Lucifer plucked her from obscurity, impressed with her skill, tenacity, and outright indifference. She was young and, thus, malleable, and he had all the charm and power to persuade her into a life of servitude under the guise of freedom and an identity untethered to _her_. 

And she was good. _They_ were good -- with each other, to each other, for each other. She indulged him in all the most exciting ways and served him in just as many, but once they settled in L.A., things changed. He changed when the Detective came to Lux and he was changing more and more every time she saw him. As much as she fought it, the shift was happening without her consent and without her influence. She couldn’t stop it no matter how hard she tried, but truthfully, seeing him now -- _them_ now -- it was pretty clear it was right. 

In fact, she’d watched very similar circumstances unfurl between Amenadiel and Linda. Celestials appeared to have a soft spot for the human woman. Maze scoffed at her own reflections, realizing that she too had fallen into that trope. But, unlike the men around her, she’d waded into the pool of human feelings and come out on the other side relatively unscathed -- sexually satisfied, even maybe a little more enriched, but very much in command of her own emotions. Maze was a soldier; this stoicism was what felt right to her.

Walking Eve to the front door, Maze allowed her to lean in and plant a tender kiss to her cheek. “I had a lot of fun. See you this weekend?” 

“Me, too; as always. Uhh, yeah...you know what? About this weekend, I’ll call you. I might be busy.”

Eve frowned, her posture deflated slightly, still not capable of hiding her disappointment or the sense of rejection with much grace, “Oh, right. Yeah, you know I’m probably busy, too.”

“No, it’s just... I think Lucifer is planning something and he’s asked for my help at Lux,” Maze said assuredly, attempting to soften the delivery despite its obvious ruse. She’d really have to get better at feigning interest or lack thereof if she was going to ease out of whatever this was with Eve. 

“Okay. Sounds good, babe,” Eve giggled nervously, walking out the door. Maze managed to mask her wince at the sound of that pet name from those innocent, naive lips, knowing full well she couldn’t reciprocate. 

Shutting the door quietly behind her, Maze made her way to the bar to fix herself a drink. She’d need to give Lucifer a call and see what he wanted. Whatever it was, he was stupid-excited. That giddiness in him was last most evident when Chloe shot him and he bled. She laughed; those two were a match made in Hell -- in the best way. While she wasn’t at his service anymore, she was in charge of Lux since he left for Hell and he’d not stepped back into his position of club-runner since he returned. He was much too busy playing house and nipping at Chloe’s heels wherever she went. 

Being in charge suited her. Control was always something she gave to someone else even if she maintained a bit of it for herself. When he was gone though, she made the decisions, called the shots, tended bar, managed the books and the employees, protected patrons from each other and themselves. She was damn good at being a boss -- The Boss. Still, just like with Eve, something was missing. Was this insatiability some weird setting she was always going to have -- were demons just naturally discontented? That’d be some shit, wouldn’t it, she thought frustratedly. 

The last time she felt content was when she, Chloe, and Amenadiel went to Hell to bring Lucifer back. It wasn’t the sense of being “home” so much as it was the feeling of being completely in her element. She was bred and trained for total destruction, visceral and lethal. Even fighting her brethren in defense of a human and an Angel felt more true to herself than anything she had on Earth over the last seven years. In Hell, in combat, in total control of her body and the ability to unleash the full force of her brutality -- she was in the zone.

There was a part of Maze, innate, that could never be outgrown or changed no matter how much time she dwelled between Heaven and Hell. No amount of exposure would change that inherent part of her that made her a fighter. Sure, she’d grown, softened in ways she’d never have been willing to admit, but it wasn’t to the point that the essence of her would shift so drastically that she’d be unrecognizable. 

In equal measure, she couldn’t take back the ways in which she’d developed a humanity brought about by the relationships she’d grown with the likes of Linda, Chloe, Trixie, _Ellen_ and even the Douche. Maze had experienced the value of companionship and interdependence that didn't expose weakness but rather deepened loyalties and devotion. And that, too, was a part of her now and a part she didn’t want to exist without. 

And so, while she continued to exist in her own version of purgatory, she’d wait and she’d make her own way like she always had, but she’d resolve to put an end to expending energy for the betterment of others. Now, in all the millennia she’d lived, _now_ was the time to learn how to put Maze first.

~o0o~

The Devil, retired or not, was endowed with many gifts. Sinfully handsome, charming, talented in so many, many ways… and possessed a natural, keen eye for detail. He was never without style, in any decade. Nor were any of the projects he endeavored. Lux, for example, he thought, eyes appreciatively roaming over his creation. 

When he’d first seen the building, back when it was new actually, he’d instantly known it was special. It had bones. And its history, as its story unfolded, gave it character. He’d had to have it, and eagerly made it his own. Every aspect of its ambiance had been intentionally planned, down to the very last detail. Style wasn’t about how bars and tables were organized, whether it boasted chairs or couches… No, it was how each individual piece played a pivotal role, chosen for its unique and independent talents, and for its ability to seamlessly integrate with its partners to transform into something new. A masterpiece. 

No different than the composer’s symphony of carefully-orchestrated notes and melded sounds, blending into a harmonious conclusion that no one instrument, however lovely, could achieve; or a painter’s canvas, a magical translation of oils and hues that by themselves were pleasing, but together could transport a vision from an artist’s mind for the whole world to see. The comparisons he could draw were endless, but style itself, no matter how it was manipulated, was an art form that few even recognized consciously, even as their bodies responded emotionally or physically, falling into a mood by design; as in here, sinking into seduction and opulence, lulled in and reluctant to leave the atmosphere of inviting, low lights, provoking music, and deep, sensual velvet that made the skin yearn. 

Likewise, a space could be altered to achieve any form of influence. Prisons were not simply erected as they were to be bare of comfort because of cost; it was also to punish perpetually, to remind the residents in every way they turned that they were the equivalent of animals, caged, denied luxury, trapped by their own acts. Interrogation rooms were also designed to subversively intimidate with its sense of cold apathy. It was upon that principle that the unfortunate denizens of Hell were tortured. He was a master of fashioning spaces to serve such a function.

That was the reason why it was fundamentally important the atmosphere he created here be perfect today. 

As he had with this building, he’d seen the Detective and known she was special. Though, as he’d come to find out, just how special had been more than he could ever have imagined, and in more ways than one. No one, and he had met and befriended many incredible men and women over the ages, had ever affected him as she had. Tonight the stage was set for him to tell her, to show her the depths of his adoration and commitment, to convey that no matter how his life had and would continue to change, he wanted to experience it with her.

Looking from the balcony, assessing the scene below as a king surveyed his kingdom, Lucifer studied the tableau, seeing it in all its current splendor, not how it would be in a few short hours. Lux had to exude romance; a vision to invite, stir longing, encourage celebration - all the same shapes but dressed new. 

Sparkling like a thousand little suns, the chandelier covered the array of tables and rows of chairs clad in silk, eliciting sheens that looked smooth as butter. The light was cunningly captured and reflected with subtle mirrors that hung discreetly amid more silk and floral decorations. He watched the employees place arrangements of flowers graced the guests’ tables, the centerpieces ringed by crystal settings, making tiny adjustments to smooth table clothes, check the placement of tableware and napkins, and nudge the chairs into perfect alignment.

He turned his eye briefly to the bar, being prepped with tiers of champagne flutes and bottles ready to be uncorked. Below, he heard the murmur of voices as they oversaw the last preparations, interspersed with the bright tinkling of glass. Across the room, the spotlight softened the stage where he regularly entertained the patrons at his piano, which would showcase the evening’s main event. There was the slightest hitch of trepidation in his next breath, and he realized with amusement that for the first time, he was nervous about this performance in front of an audience.

Not only was it ridiculous for him to be nervous, he chided himself, there was no reason to doubt how magnificent it would be. He and the little urchin had spent weeks in planning. While he’d had to forcibly veto a few of her suggestions - such as _glitter_ (the thing of nightmares in many a Hell-loop), he did admit she had been helpful and, with some tutelage and practice, would develop her own style and flair one day. He was confident all the hours of careful plotting and planning would be worth it, especially once he saw the look on the Detective’s face.

She would be overwhelmed and delighted by it, like her own personal fairy tale. Her favorite flowers and the romantic setting, their friends and family waiting. And she wouldn’t have to worry about a single detail - it was all taken care of. Once she arrived home from the precinct, she would find everything awaiting her.

This part had been Trixie’s favorite: the enormous present, elaborately wrapped in silver and topped with a bow, with a card that invited her to attend a very special celebration in her honor. Inside she would find a dress any princess would die for, tailored for her, like in _Pretty Woman_ , but even _better._ A complete ensemble of gown, simple but elegant, shoes, tiara, and breathtaking diamonds, and all she had to do was put it on.

Undoubtedly, she’d also be grateful that he’d been so considerate by handling all the details. He was certain everything would meet her satisfaction; she would be swept off her feet by the surprise and the gesture. 

Before her, he had never desired a real relationship, even if one had been possible. But everything they had gone through, the intimacies of their friendship, her choice to give up her eternity in the Silver City and agree to live a life with him, it all seemed to come together to lead them here, to this moment. 

Marriage was the next logical step in most relationships once there was an expectation of spending lives together. She obviously understood this, as she’d done it once before, and had even been ready to repeat the experience with Pierce. Lucifer’s own experiences with marriage had been vastly different and served another purpose entirely. Marrying Candy, for example, had been to kill two birds with one stone; help Candy out of a sticky situation, and put some distance between himself and the Detective until he could figure out how to manage that new thorn in the side. 

His prior offer of marriage to the Detective had been with false pretenses, but, as it turned out, completely genuine. He hadn’t truly realized it until she’d said no and the disappointment had twisted uncomfortably in his chest, plaguing him with a sense of loss though he didn’t understand why. A vise that had finally loosened, allowed him to breathe, when she’d opened her eyes on their bedroom floor. In that moment, he’d suddenly comprehended what marriage was - what he’d been blindly stumbling around trying to identify.

It was a promise. Dramatically complicated with its traditions and forms and obscenely price-gouged to be sure, which he found naturally appealing in its bare-faced, capitalistic hedonism. Strip all that away, however, and what it was beneath all the pomp and circumstance was a promise. After all, it was made of vows, was it not? It was a promise to belong, in a way he never had until meeting her, it was a promise of acceptance, all the more meaningful because it hadn’t been easy; it was a promise to protect, as they each did for the other, and a promise to experience the rest together, a whole life of experiences he’d never expected to one day have with the future as unknown as it was to the next human.

Since their return from the Silver City and his subsequent epiphany, everything had been going swimmingly, he thought. Any concerns that cropped up, they navigated together easily. They really were a good team, weren’t they? he smiled to himself. Chloe’s strength took it all in stride; finding Christine would be a boy rather than a girl, learning of his new mortality, her work at the precinct being temporarily displaced, and even his abrupt, buoyant celebratory party favors dispersed at the precinct hadn’t fazed her. 

Yes, everything was finally going right. He was handling this relationship business rather expertly, and, naturally, going in the right direction. 

~o0o~

Chloe was surprised. And alarmed. 

It seemed Lt. Sanders hadn’t been feeding her falsely to ease her into desk duty when he’d said there were reports from several nearby precincts of strange murders. She hadn’t been given any official command or permission, exactly, to look into the reports, but curiosity had sunk its teeth into her.

And like sharp teeth, left a painful mark, as she uncovered more and more. Skimming through one case had led to another of similar descriptions, then another, and a frantic search of reported homicides over the last two weeks. It was a staggering amount, even allowing that not every one of them was connected, and clearly escalating.

She’d lost track of time, scribbling notes of keywords and similarities - men, range from 20’s-40’s, no apparent fixation on age or ethnicity, socioeconomic status - but all men, for sure. Thinking back to the first homicide she and Lucifer had been called to after… well, that had also been a man, one murdered for seemingly no reason, apparently in the heat of the moment. Yet, when she compared other open-ended homicides since then, there was a commonality. It was weak, tenuous at best, but presented nonetheless. 

The only factor culling these murders together was a similarity in the type of location. Chloe remembered Lucifer’s unhelpful information, yet proving valuable somehow all the same, that the area was frequented by prostitutes. By appearances, the victim may have indeed been there for that reason. Other homicides were occurring in the same kinds of vicinities: alleyways in areas either known or suspected for sex-trafficking, in disreputable and dangerous parts of town, by seedy bars, abandoned warehouses, and a motel known for a special by-the-hour rate. 

All places where it was highly likely the victims may have been looking for a paid companion or taking it by force and coercion. Given the sheer number, this was no accidental case of self-defense. These men were being sought out.

Chloe frowned at the time on her watch. She was going to be so late getting home, and she had been so immersed in her work she hadn’t even thought to text anybody, and — oh, no, was she supposed to pick up Trixie today?

She wavered with uncertainty for a moment, phone in hand, deciding whether to call Dan and Lucifer and leave for the night, or if it would matter if she waited just a few more minutes. The last homicide she’d pulled - she glanced down at the file on her desk, biting her lip - if it was connected, it elevated what was already a disturbing trend to truly alarming heights. But… her entire theory was built on scattered breadcrumbs as it was. The chances that this case related… she shook her head, resolved to let it go for the night. It would still be there in the morning.

Dialing Dan first, she pulled on her coat and gathered her things, treating the messy spread on her desk with as much order as she could give it for now, cell jammed uncomfortably into place between her shoulder and ear.

“Hey, this is Dan,” she heard dimly, and giving her desk a last look, straightened and adjusted her hold on the phone.

“Hey, it’s me,” she responded. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time and I’m running behind - was I picking up Trixie from you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he assured her. “It’s no different for me if I just bring her along now. You do whatever it is you need to do. We’ll see you at Lux. Later.”

Chloe frowned. “Lux? Why would—?”

But “later” had apparently been his disconnecting the call and he was gone. More than a little confused, Chloe stared at her phone. Why would he be taking Trixie to Lux, of all places? Was there something else she was forgetting?

Walking and dialing on her way to the garage, she impatiently waited through three rings before being deposited at Lucifer’s suggestive invitation to leave her message. Grumbling to herself, she called again, but with the same result; voicemail every time. Fine, she thought. She would just head directly to Lux, since apparently Dan was taking Trixie there, and she’d likely find Lucifer there too.

Saturday nights were usually packed, though it was still a few hours shy of the party crowd, and she found the valet already at work when she pulled up. Emerging from the driver’s seat, which took a little longer than normal these days, she spied several posted signs out front displaying that Lux was closed for a private event.

What in the world was going on? 

When she stepped inside via the back entrance, it was into an immediate flurry of activity. Caterers and what appeared to be every bartender or employee of Lucifer’s were bustling to and fro, many shouting directives to others over the din, and others weaving through the crowd with trays of drinks. She gingerly wove her way through the madness, careful not to be accidentally elbowed or cause a server to drop their order. 

Emerging from the storeroom and kitchen, Chloe searched for Lucifer among the guests. Whatever shin-dig was going on tonight, the place looked great. She paused, staying close to the wall, and gave the room a second, slower inspection. It was beautiful. If she hadn’t known Lux as a nightclub, she never would have guessed it by tonight’s transformation. It was like a fairyland. Crystal winked among colorful, sweet blossoms, their aroma rich in the air. A bower of them cascaded where Lucifer’s piano usually sat.

Finally, she spotted Lucifer, jovially engrossed in conversation with a small cluster of people around him, and by some stroke of luck, managed to make eye contact with him without having to cross the room.

Lucifer smiled immediately when he saw her, motioning for her to wait for him to come to her, and said something to his guests before smoothly slipping away. Waiting for him by the wall where she was out of sight, she continued to study the room. The more she looked at it, the more unnerved she felt. The air suddenly felt a little heavier and over warm.

He joined her in a matter of seconds, taking one of her hands in his and squeezing it lightly. Before she could manage to ask anything, he’d given her a more thorough assessment, looking her up and down, and his smile turned quizzical. “You’re not dressed,” he said. “Did it not fit?”

“What?” Chloe asked, confused, and feeling more and more that something was not quite right. For a second, she looked down just to make sure she was, in fact, wearing clothes. Something about this whole thing felt unnervingly like a nightmare in which you suddenly found yourself standing nude, or pushed on stage not knowing any of your lines. Or both.

“The dress?” 

It really was rapidly becoming too hot, she thought. The sweet perfume of the flowers was suddenly too much, and she wasn’t sure she could breathe. It was a nightmare, she thought, almost frantically. This can’t be happening. He wouldn’t have… This wasn’t… She licked her dry lips, trying to assemble her thoughts, her words, to ask him.

And then the world went black.

~o0o~


	8. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dearest readers:
> 
> Please accept our sincerest apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. We’re getting used to the change in routine; this week was a particularly challenging one for us both. (Really trying to get the hang of this working-from-home thing. You’d think it'd be easier for me to write! -E) 
> 
> Then, when we started writing, it got even more difficult. There’s some choppy waters ahead; we’ve both struggled to pen this and what's to come. This chapter was 99% Wordsaremagick. (Excuse me - don’t blame me for this! -E) [I KNEW you’d say that! I’m trying to give you credit for how well done this is! -M]. Even in proofing it, I literally had to step away from it because it was…rough. Whatever your feelings are after reading this, know that we love you, we’re sorry (sort of), and we'll get through this together. -Onemorepage  
> 
> 
> P.S. I feel awful I wasn’t able to complete my part in time to post last night. Hope you all forgive me! [You're forgiven. -M] Writing this adventure with M gives me so much happiness and distraction from all the crazy stuff going on out there right now, and I can’t put into words how much it means to me when you share your comments. - Wordsaremagick

**> >> TRIGGER WARNING: Description of violence mid-way through the chapter. Attempted strangulation and self-defense scenario. Please read with caution <<<**

~o0o~

“I feel so bad,” Chloe muttered again, knowing she sounded like the world’s most morose broken record. She hadn’t uncovered her face since she’d first felt the embarrassing burn of tears and pressed her fingertips to her closed eyes in a futile bid to deny their existence.

A soft, cool touch gently drew away one hand, and Chloe felt a glass of cold water, instinctively wrapping her fingers around it. The guiding touch withdrew but said, “I know.”

Linda’s voice was calm and quiet, reassuring in its ability to convey understanding and absence of censure. She had probably repeated those two words half a dozen times by now, but somehow made them sound as compassionate as the first reply each time. They were both trained to contend with catastrophe, Chloe mused; while hers was in response to the physical, Linda was expert at the most insidious of adversaries - the kinds that laid siege from within.

Braving it, Chloe gratefully swallowed half the glass’s contents, parched from the spectacle of fainting, the exhausting scene afterward, and the last few hours of crying. 

She hadn’t meant to crumble in front of Linda or let herself feel so exposed. Showing vulnerability in this way was anathema in her very core. In the past, it had sometimes manifested as anger - such as punching paparazzi after her father’s funeral, for instance - but rarely crying. Not in this way that left her defenseless. But somehow Linda had taken charge when Chloe’s emotional strength had begun to deplete; she’d felt drained and empty and lost, and when Linda had taken her arm, she’d followed, internally grateful for the direction, which was how she found herself curled up on Linda’s couch in a blue afghan with a box of Kleenex and a half-empty glass of water.

“I should have handled that better,” Chloe said.

Coming-to upstairs in the penthouse above Lux, Chloe’s first, dazed thought had been that she’d had the strangest lucid pregnancy dream ever - usually nightmares at this stage involved panic-filled scenarios of misplacing the baby or finding the infant perfectly fine sitting on the ceiling (she had to admit she’d wondered if might actually be possible this time). Then she’d laughed, a short, slightly-hysteric sound that should have warned anyone with a sense of self-preservation to tread very carefully. Realizing shortly thereafter that yes, indeed, she had just walked into her own wedding, _without ever being asked,_ she’d stared at Lucifer with dawning horror.

“Says who? There’s not a guidebook for how to best respond when your significant other plans a surprise wedding,” replied Linda drily. 

With a pathetic sniffle, Chloe began picking at the ball of wadded unused tissues in her fist. “The look on his face…” she whispered. Like the expression, or lack of, he’d worn when fully realizing her betrayal and alliance with Father Kinley, her distrust after years of partnership. Only a hundred thousand times worse.

Her own countenance had more than suggested her growing sense of betrayal as well, and when she’d asked, somewhat forcefully, what in _Hell_ he’d been thinking, his initial response of puzzlement quickly disintegrated into disappointment. By that point, she’d been too worked up and strung out to try to salvage the bizarre situation, and had barely noticed that a few of their friends, who had been hovering nearby with concern, hastily offered to take care of everything downstairs. 

“Did you not like the arrangements? I thought they would be to your taste. Was it the dress?”

“I never even _saw_ the dress, Lucifer. It’s not about the dress. Or the decorations, which, yes, are beautiful,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut in frustration. Making him understand was as hopeless as wishing that the entire extravaganza downstairs would magically disappear when she opened them again.

“Then what is the problem?” he asked, a touch exasperated. “You came back with me, you said ‘yes’. We’ve been a family since we got back. Everything has been perfect. This is just making it official.”

Lucifer’s reply - his entire perspective - was so skewed that she, precariously balanced on the edge between anger and tears, finally let go of both. It didn’t matter, she told him incredulously, that she’d chosen him instead of Heaven or the Silver City or whatever. It didn’t matter that they were together and that he thought they were in “harmonious accord” because _apparently they weren’t, if she didn’t know they were getting married today._

The fact that the question of consulting her, or involving her for that matter, hadn’t even occurred to him should have been a clue, she continued. How could he completely remove her from the equation - he really hadn’t thought she’d want to be a part of those decisions? He’d thought it was perfectly acceptable to make all those choices on her behalf - even her choice to agree to marry him? For a man so acutely attuned to the gift of choice, taking this away from her was dumbfounding. 

And those words had been the ones to hit him with all the punishing force that mere mortals physically could not. His astonishment and hurt was rapidly replaced by anger, rendering his frozen visage with a heat so palpable, she was surprised she stood before him without being scalded. 

Voice low and biting with temper thinly held in check, he asked, “Then what did you come back with me for? What did I become _mortal_ for? I freely gave up any semblance of the life I’ve always known, and now you’re telling me it doesn’t _matter?”_

He’d turned away from her then, not so swiftly that she didn’t see the red glare of fire in his eyes. Lucifer didn’t break from his statue-like posture, even when she apologized in a shaky whisper. She trembled, not from fear, though he’d never directed unfiltered anger at her before, but from the relief of expending the coiled-up, abraded nerves that had been threatening to strangle her for the last several months. Finally, blessedly, releasing the overwhelming repressed fear and shock and grief of the last year - from finally seeing and understanding who he was, losing him, fighting to reunite; whatever it meant that she was a miracle, conceiving a child, losing him again only to get him back and _die_ and return; whether she was spiraling or only now glimpsing a solid spot of land, who knew.

Linda released a heavy sigh, as if she too were recalling the devastating look of disappointment, hurt, and anger all rolled into one, before he’d turned and refused to look at her. “He Gaston-ed you, Chloe. I doubt any woman in your shoes would have reacted differently. It was a bombshell.

“None of us even considered the possibility you didn’t know. We just thought the two of you wanted to hurry up and do it before the baby came.” She shook her head. “Though given who he is, I really should have.”

With a sound of frustration, Chloe said, “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Every time I feel like things are starting to feel normal, he does something crazy. And every time, I adjust and move forward, but is he ever going to stop yanking the rug out from under me? I’m a grown woman and I can barely handle it; how can I expect a child to?”

“Normal is a little outside his reach, Chloe. I don’t think that will ever change.”

“I know,” Chloe admitted.

“And I don’t think that’s really the issue here,” Linda said carefully. “You’ve handled him for years, Chloe. His personality didn’t suddenly evolve over night. I think… The fact that you balked at this just means you two have more to sort out before you can completely entrust your futures to each other. Don’t take what happened today as a disaster. Take it as a chance to set whatever is out of balance into alignment.”

She may have leaned on Linda a little when they left. His continued silence was deafening in the wake of her parting words, now echoing silently, hauntingly, after Linda spoke. “I did want to marry you. Just not like this, not when we’re not even on the same page.”

~o0o~

How do you amass blind allegiance? 

I’ll tell you. After all, I have lifetimes of experience.

First, the strongest weapon: pathos. Make their fears, anxiety, pain, resentment, your concerns. Empathy, not pity, you give speeches with enough passion, your every word is a breath that can fan each of their embers to wild flame.

Second, as their blood rages: ethos. You demonstrate in any arena that you are the alpha. The strongest, most cunning, and could never betray their needs. Yes, make them need you.

Third, while they lay their hopes at your feet: logos. Plan where, when, and how to use each pawn. Feed them with proof to keep them close. Select the right evidence, good use of those that must be made examples of, prove what you fight for is justified. 

But what good will a herd of sheep do in a battle? Nothing. No, you must attract the sheep, impress them with your skills. For every hundred meek lambs there is a young wolf, ready to display their fresh battle scars. Choose carefully - surround yourself with wolves and they will challenge you. Dispose of those that do, as publicly as possible.

I could teach a thing or two to a certain president.

This hunting ground is full of sheep, but my emissaries will enlist those. Tonight, I hunt for wolves.

Weaving through the crowd, keeping the front line in sight, I’ve steadily assessed the leaders. One woman with spiky jet black hair caught my eye. For hours I watched her rally her sisters, stand steady without tiring; her scars must run deep. Her energy revitalized those around her, a strong soul that would fuel the rest like kerosene, an anchor for the most complex and daring of spells. She will bring many of her own to my fold, but to secure her would take a special bond. Sisterhood would not be enough incentive to yield unquestionably to my authority.

Patiently, I waited for my opportunity. Though the movement had gathered in peaceful protest, there were always some who could not abide such an act of defiance, who interpreted a public display as an invitation to assert dominance; in this case, to brand the women, no longer individuals but as one body, as liars, manipulators, or whores that deserved what they got. Most ride the high of excitement, the primal surging of blood, unleashing of dark desire to beat into submission, to emerge the winner. Animals. A few taste the coming violence in the air and become wild creatures.

She had been targeted by a heckler most of the night, the gleam of crazed apprehension bright in his eyes. Far enough away to be indiscernible, close enough to watch, I waited. She fought well, never backing down. If she’d torn away her skin and revealed the wolf within, she would have been a beautiful, frightful sight, bared sharp teeth and claws, a predator’s lithe body of tightly controlled power evident in every taut muscle.

Magnificent. As activists became separated and the distance between bodies grew, her enemy followed. Verbal sparring soon was shadowed by body language, postures that proclaimed this would not be offense and defense, but a battle, and only one would be the victor.

I hated to spoil her fun and steal her triumph, but there would be other conquests. This one had to be mine for her to become indebted to me.

Then the physical. He pushed, she shoved back. She threw a punch, he backhanded. Her strength was flagging, after her hours of protest. She fell hard, head thrown back with an audible crack on the pavement. I waited for him to wrap his fingers around her throat, straddling her, pinning her down. I waited until there was a spark of fear in her eyes, the moment she wondered if she had overestimated, if this would be her last breath. I waited until his hunger to destroy her was absolute, no chance that he would back away before he went too far. He was too far gone; feral. His fingers squeezed.

And I lunged from the shadows to take him down, eager to move in for my kill. No need to play first. But his death needed to serve a purpose, and so I slowed, allowing him to overtake me with token resistance. He favored the physical, loved the unfettered power of using his hands, apparent when he moved again to strangle. He wanted to feel the life extinguished, feel in every fiber that he was first. Let his hands be occupied, I thought, reaching, stretching to snatch my dropped bag. My lips twisted in a smile, the kind a wolf gives her prey before snapping its neck, and I saw his moment of surprise, of confusion, before twisting the discreet firearm between us.

I savored that second of bafflement, the disbelief that he would not win after all, as the projectile cleaved his skin and muscle in delicious climax, and his lifeblood escaped first in a weeping trickle before spurting freely. He sagged like a felled tree, and I rolled to escape his weight. On hands and knees, I crawled a few paces away, as if stunned.

She was coughing raggedly behind me, and I saw her massage her throat tenderly. “Oh my God,” she rasped. “Is he dead?”

Blood was pooling beneath his prone corpse, trickling through the chunks of gravel, and I imitated a shudder, eyeing it dispassionately. “Yes,” I answered, one word that was low but bespoke the confidence she needed to hear.

Standing, I approached her slowly. The decision she would make now, generated by instinct and adrenaline, would hardwire her trust and thought processes more effectively than anything else could. Emotions, the more volatile the better, were the most resolute of shackles. She didn’t back away, though her eyes were wide and skittered from his body to me and back again. “He won’t hurt you,” I told her. “No one can hurt you again,” I vowed.

She followed me from the site, and as we evaded the nearby crowds, I cast the sacrificial altar a backwards glance, smiling with satisfaction.

~o0o~

“Gunshot. To the throat,” Dan remarked. “Dead center.”

Ella’s hands stilled in the act of recording the date and time on the evidence bag and looked at him. “Was that meant to be funny? Not your best, dude.”

Still squatting over the body, he answered her query with a brief, sardonic glance, and shook his head. “Actually, I was referring to the precision and proximity. It’s hard to tell under what’s left, but this looks like a burn mark. The shooter must have been extremely close.”

Considering the angle, the petite forensic scientist studied the tableau, unaware her steady, unflinching inspection of the grotesque mass of shredded tissue and congealing bodily fluids was also being appraised by the man across from her, or how often and at countless other crime scenes he had done so. 

Unknowingly, she interrupted his silent admiration that she could somehow effortlessly embody sunshine and radiance and fun, brave the ugliest of mankind, and command thousands of facts and complicated rules of science. That was another part he admired - her focus, investment, in always working to the best of her ability. “The way this looks,” she commented, “Well, I’d need to do some calculations, but it’s possible this shot came from beneath him.” She turned suddenly, looking over her shoulder to re-examine the pattern of blood spatter and other, less savory, fragments.

“He was crouching over someone,” Ella postulated. “This looks like it could have been self-defense.”

They both stood when there was a commotion at the perimeter of crime scene tape blocking off the area. A uniform raised the deterrent to allow a woman, blonde hair twisted back in a hasty bun, to pass through.

“Chloe!” Dan expelled a sigh of annoyance at her approach. “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be at active sites. How did you even know about this?”

When she didn’t deign to answer, he asked accusingly, “You were listening to the scanners, weren’t you?”

He received a glare before she slapped a file against his hand. “I’m here because I think this is related to more than one open case,” Chloe said. “Ella, do you remember that homicide a few weeks ago? The man with the stake in his chest?”

Expression openly communicating her confusion, Ella answered, “Yeah, but Chloe this doesn’t really have any of the same indicators. So far I’m pretty convinced this was self-defense, especially given the high emotionally-charged energy here tonight.”

“No,” Chloe argued. “You don’t understand. They _all_ look like self-defense, but they’re not. It’s planned, Ella.”

“Chloe, I know you’re dealing with a lot right now—” Dan started, and Chloe whirled to face him, piqued. Even in the face of her stony regard, he soldiered on. “I think you are just looking for something to avoid what happened with Lucifer. Not saying I feel one way or the other about it, but I’m pretty sure you should be talking to him right now, not trying to uncover a nefarious, masterminded scheme or whatever you think this is.”

Suppressing a growl of frustration, Chloe pointed at the file. “If you would just look at it, you’d see what I mean. There is something bigger going on here, and I think it involves more than murder. Kidnapping. Human trafficking. I don’t know, but something.”

Ella cleared her throat and said, “Uh, Lucifer—”

“No, I do _not_ need to talk to Lucifer right now!” Chloe exclaimed. What was it going to take for someone to listen to her?

“Is here,” Ella finished.

Sure enough, ducking under the yellow crime scene tape was Lucifer Morningstar. Groaning, Chloe couldn’t help the compulsive need to massage her temples. This was not the time or the place to try to discuss whatever was going on between them. 

Next to her, Dan muttered under his breath, “Is this a crime scene or a soap opera?”

Sourly, Chloe issued him another glance of growing irritation, and stepped away to meet Lucifer’s arrival. No matter the hour, he always managed to look aggravatingly tempting, she granted. But something about him tonight was different. As she neared, she tried to analyze what it was. 

Perhaps it was the lack of a good-humored smile, usually accompanied by that softness in his eyes he reserved for her. What she saw was the same rigid posture she left him in, emphasizing the guarded manner in which he moved to meet her. Had it only been 24 hours since their fight? Chloe soaked up the sight of him, feeling like she had been starved of him for far longer. But no matter how much she’d missed him, they had both said some things that couldn’t be dismissed so readily. 

She was overwhelmed and, honestly, embarrassed by it. Was that what had kept her from telling him when she’d started to feel the desire for everything to slow down? Instead she’d let him believe she was fine, wanting so badly to reassure him, that she hadn’t shown him she needed the same.

“Hey,” she greeted him softly.

“Detective,” he offered cautiously. “I went to the loft. I’d hoped we could talk. But Trixie told me you’d gone to a crime scene.” Briefly, his eyes flicked to the bustle of activity in the background. “I thought you weren’t to be investigating.”

“I’m not, exactly,” she said. The space between them felt as much a barricade as the stilted, superficial words they’d exchanged.

“I see. Well if you aren’t _investigating_ , can we talk?” he asked.

She hesitated. “We do need to talk,” she agreed. “But not right now. I’m not ready right now. And… I think there’s something happening here,” she fumbled to explain her certainty that there was more to these murders, linking them together, and only hinting at something worse to come.

He sighed resignedly, “Yes, there _is_ something happening here, and I want to discuss it with you. I want to fix this so we can move forward.” He had begun to reach for her, hand outstretched to rest on the familiar curve of her stomach.

But she reacted instinctively to his last sentence, and her back stiffened as she took a step away, retreating just beyond his touch. His hand hovered in the abandoned space she had occupied a moment before, then dropped to his side.

“You’re not _listening_ to me,” Chloe said with reproof. “Not everything is about you! And you can’t show up when you’re ready and manhandle this so that I’m forced to just go along like everything is okay! I need time to think about what I want and whether _I’m_ ready. And until you can listen to me and actually hear what I’m saying, there isn’t any amount of talking that can fix this!” 

Lucifer’s eyes hardened even further, if it was possible. With a bow of mocked veneration, he ground out, “It’s _always_ been about you, Chloe. Everything I’ve done has always been in service of your needs, your desires, your happiness! How ridiculous of me to have thought this ‘partnership’ could ever have evolved into something more than a one-sided, pathetic game of ‘follow-the-leader.’ I’ll just get out of your way, Detective,” he spat at her with more venom in his tone than she’d ever heard, “seeing as how you have made it _abundantly_ clear that you no longer require my assistance nor want it!” 

In their volatile state, neither of them was remotely capable of noticing the presence of another voyeur. The officers had discreetly given them some privacy, not that it would have made a difference. It seemed that with every layer that was stripped away, more turbulence was unleashed. 

Though their voices didn’t carry, the spectator’s attention had immediately transferred from enjoying the spectacle of her handiwork to Lucifer and Chloe’s appearance. There it had stayed, long enough to ascertain the tell-tale curve of a mother’s shape and the magnetism that enveloped the couple and conveyed all there needed to be said of their connection. When she made her exit, backing into the shadows beyond the police lights, she had seen enough to reconsider her timetable. 

Lucifer and his pretty detective needed a distraction from her work or they would spoil her plans. And, she smiled, if she could exact some revenge on him in the process, all the better. How it would destroy him, an immortal impervious to the poisonous bite of disease or time or violence; but for his child to become her own… His suffering would be just as satisfying. Her collection of souls should be strong enough to manage what she had in mind, though it would require perfect planning.

~o0o~


	9. Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello you lovely people! Here we go, buckle up! We're in for a bumpy ride. This was another one of those chapters basically split down the middle. Both of us are responsible this time, though. HA! As always, comments are endlessly appreciated and definitely help during these crazy days! Be well, enjoy, and stay safe! - OneMorePage

~o0o~

Falling in love had never rung more truthfully than it did now. When the certainty of one heart was tested by the lack of certainty in the other -- _falling_ indeed, falling was excruciating -- he knew first hand the agony of it. This, though, this was a pain indescribable. Millennia in the literal place where torture and punishment were doled out, this feeling sinking into his chest, weighed so heavily that breathing became difficult to the point where he questioned whether breathing was worthwhile at all. 

Lucifer couldn’t untangle the sickening feeling overwhelming him. “ _Not like this.”_ Her words echoed in his head and, as he sank into the leather banquette of the VIP booth, he was reminded again. Reaching behind him, he fished out the small, velvet-clad, crimson box from his back pocket and set it on the table in front of him. Inside held a promise; three continuous rings of platinum, understated, but beautifully crafted. 

Hers, a thin band wrapped in black diamonds and offset by a flawless, hexagonal cushion-cut solitaire. He designed hers so she’d never have to take it off, not even for work. He meant for it to suit her intrinsically so she could not protest about its extravagance, or being gaudy, or bulky or some other excuse as to why she didn’t need it or deserve it. Lucifer wanted it to be a reflection of how well he knew her, how he saw her: practical, but breathtaking all the same. And it was; simply stunning. 

His was similar, thicker, but simple, too. Three diamonds inset diagonally in the band, flawless crystal-clear bolstered on both sides by deep, rich black. And then, the third ring nestled between the two in the box; much, much smaller, but just as lovely. Lucifer removed each of them and held them in his hand. That small one, seeing it and knowing he’d not be able to give it to her just about sent him spiraling again. 

He’d intended it as a symbol of his devotion to her just as much as her mother. He wanted Trixie to know the significance of her place in his life and the life they were embarking on together as a family. The connection they’d made and the joy she’d brought him, her patience with him, her unrestrained exuberance for all things good, and the obnoxiously consistent way she’d slowly stripped away his self-doubt as he found himself wrapped tighter around her finger, somehow convincing him that he was good, and worthy, and wanted, too. Lucifer dreamt about the look on her face as he’d call to her and ask her to join them in the ceremony he’d planned, her standing there, maybe a little shyly, but also proud of the gorgeous setting she helped him design, as he spoke softly to her an echo of the vows he’d just given her mother. 

As he spun them in his hand, the fine inscriptions delicately engraved into both their rings caught the light and pierced through him with an intensity of a thousand falls. “ _Noster Amor Non Morietur.”_

How did he get this so wrong? He asked her to give up paradise for him, to spend a life with him, to be his wife, to be the mother of their child, to gift him the chance to have a family and she agreed. _She agreed_. There was no shortage of evidence from her behavior, her actions, a look, a smile, a touch, she chose him -- was choosing him. Where did this go wrong? 

Yes, she wanted him, or so it seemed, but maybe… He tried to shake the thought, but its presence was so engrossing, the nagging was inescapable. She wanted him, but “not like this.” She wanted him, but maybe not _all of him._

Were they back to this? Was this what all the struggle, turmoil, heartbreak, making up, death, sacrifice, and everything in between had gotten them to? This exact same place they were that night when he asked her if she could accept him for who he was and she tearfully admitted she didn’t know. But, no. No, she’d also begged him to stay with her all those months ago on the balcony, she finally allowed herself to utter the words he’d never thought he’d hear from her: “I love you.” 

As Lucifer replayed that evening from months ago, trying to understand if he had misjudged or where he had erred, three other words rang out in his memory: “I’m so sorry.” Then, the words prefaced a confession that would spur between them a connection literally engineered by the hand of God. And tonight, those three words came to bear again in crushing force. Tonight, they prefaced a rejection, what amounted to a recantation of the acceptance he desperately sought and thought he finally found in being hers. 

In his eons of existence, he never felt like he truly belonged. Lucifer’s place in the Silver City was conditionally predicated on blind obedience and allegiance to his Father’s will. It was never really home for him, so his fall, while agonizing, was not surprising. As time passed, something drew him to Earth. Initially, it was the offer of sin, lust, freedom -- choice in its purest form. But over time, the pull was not just the idea of chasing fleeting pleasures, it’d become something more existential. Now, he knew it was Chloe calling him all along; the innate knowledge that she would exist, someone he belonged with would exist. 

Truthfully, that’s probably what was so damn intoxicating; her gravitational pull was literally like no force on Earth. And while she was infuriating, impossible to read, and endlessly irritating, he was madly and disgustingly in love with her. So, when the venom in her words, her incredulity, and her frustration, despite the spectacle and the attention he painstakingly paid to every detail, finally hit him, it burned all the more. Every single element of every minute of his existence since she came back to him, all of it was for her. To satisfy her, to please her, to show her, to tell her, to prove to her he was worthy of the things she’d given up. 

That was precisely why it felt like falling all over again every time she rejected him when he’d exposed himself so freely to her. The depths of his devotion were so blatantly unconditional. Even when she’d betrayed him, it was how much he loved her that caused him the most pain. It wasn’t the lack of reciprocity per se, it was the lack of acceptance. Maybe those were connected. Maybe at one point for him, being accepted was what he really was after, maybe that was his greatest desire. To be chosen and wanted. 

Now that he’d finally found it, there was no way in Hell he was going to let it go. 

~o0o~

Lucifer woke up still wearing his tuxedo, puffy-eyed, and disheveled sometime in the middle of the afternoon the next day. He spent the entire evening and most of the morning alternating between bouts of extreme anger and extreme hurt, drank nearly 3 full bottles of whisky, and only cried once (a fact he was simultaneously proud and ashamed of), by the time he was done sulking and self-medicating, he’d settled into his resolve to go to her and find a way through. 

He’d tried to see if she was at the loft, but learned from a much-too-sad-looking Trixie that Chloe had left to go to a crime scene. He kissed her on the head and told her he’d be back soon and that he was sorry, but that he was going to make it better. As he made his way down to the garage, he called the precinct to get the location of the scene and was soon racing toward it and Chloe. On the way, he laughed at the realization that she, in her ever-exasperating way, was defying orders much the same way she did at the beginning of their partnership when she was supposed to be convalescing her gunshot wound.

Pulling the Corvette into a slot between two cruisers, Lucifer spotted her golden hair first and began to make his way toward her, Ella, and the Douche. 

He honestly had no idea how this was going to go, he was uncertain and a little guarded. As she walked toward him, he stiffened slightly until she greeted him with a soft, “Hey.”

“Detective,” he offered cautiously. “I went to the loft. I’d hoped we could talk. But Trixie told me you’d gone to a crime scene.” He spotted Ella and Dan acting like there was nothing between them, when it was so blatantly obvious that they were into each other. What idiots, why they couldn’t just tell each other how they felt like he and Chloe had baffled him. “I thought you weren’t to be investigating.”

“I’m not, exactly,” she said. The air was stale and the words almost clinical, the electricity that usually passed freely between them was there but stifled and unnatural. 

“I see. Well if you aren’t _investigating_ , can we talk?” he asked, hoping she would give him a chance to explain and they could talk through whatever issues needed to be resolved. 

When she hesitated, he felt a flare of panic. “We do need to talk,” she agreed. “But not right now. I’m not ready right now. And… I think there’s something happening here,”

Trying to give her space, but desperately needing a resolution to the aching sensation in his chest, he interrupted, “Yes, there _is_ something happening here, and I want to discuss it with you. I want to fix this so we can move forward.” If he could just touch her, just bridge the connection so the current could flow freely again, he was certain everything would be fine.

As he reached out for her, she retreated. That infinitesimal recoil, creating physical distance between them, confirmed what he had feared. In an instant, he remembered her face in the hall as he stood over Cain’s body, the way she jumped when he touched her shoulder gently walking along the canals, and the way she could not control her reaction to his full Devil form that evening in the penthouse when he showed her again the monstrous side of him he’d always tried to convince her was there. 

“You’re not _listening_ to me,” her voice raising with each syllable, “Not everything is about you! And you can’t show up when you’re ready and manhandle this so that I’m forced to just go along like everything is okay! I need time to think about what I want and whether _I’m_ ready. And until you can listen to me and actually hear what I’m saying, there isn’t any amount of talking that can fix this!” 

Oh, he was listening to _every_ word and he was hearing everything she _wasn’t_ saying. The King of Hell had never before sought forgiveness, never before now did he want it from anyone. It took much more than courage to come to her and admit fault for the way in which the evening had transpired. He’d been brought to his knees before her on many occasions, but this was the first time he resented her for it. All the willing sacrifices he’d made, abdication of his throne, clearly meant so little to her. Her tone, her outright denial of his wish to reconcile, all pronounced so painfully explicitly she did not see him as equal, deserving of her consideration. 

Unable to stifle his indignation, Lucifer hotly responded, “It’s _always_ been about you, Chloe. Everything I’ve done has always been in service of your needs, your desires, your happiness! How ridiculous of me to have thought this ‘partnership’ could ever have evolved into something more than a one-sided, pathetic game of ‘follow-the-leader.’ I’ll just get out of your way, Detective,” pushing passed her, “seeing as how you have made it _abundantly_ clear that you no longer require my assistance nor want it!” 

~o0o~

With a disgruntled groan, Lucifer reached out blindly and slapped a hand over the insistently-beeping alarm. The sound persisted, echoing in his head for a few moments after, tormenting him a little longer; inflicting pain on himself, he thought miserably. Not even the sort that resulted in any pleasure in the end. No, just sheer, stupid masochism. 

Rolling onto his back, he regarded the ceiling. It took another long moment for it to become stationary and Lucifer winced, rubbing his eyes, feeling a throbbing behind them that threatened to eject them from his very skull in addition to the spinning. Hangovers were apparently another grand perk of being mortal. 

Disoriented, he managed to sit up, though he felt the room tip to the side once or twice on the way. His metabolism always caught up to the rate of alcohol consumption, and if he drank speedily enough and strongly enough, he could manage to enjoy being inebriated for a brief time before it essentially wore off. Evidently, that was no longer the case, and he was experiencing first-hand the merciless slap of sobriety.

Moving with more care and less grace than normal, Lucifer crossed the penthouse master bedroom to the wardrobe. He paused at the open threshold, casting the mess outside a dismissive glance, and continued on. He vaguely recalled venting some of his frustration on the hapless minibar. Maybe a few glasses. A bottle or two perhaps.

Suppose we both got ‘wrecked’ last night, he thought humorlessly. He buttoned his dress shirt, and straightened the collar, finally feeling — well, maybe not more _human —_ but presentable at least. The finishing touch was his cufflinks, and he expertly fastened them in place before registering these were his favorite pair. There was something odd about that, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He was certain he hadn’t worn them since before the Great Wedding Disaster. 

He shrugged the unspoken question away. It hardly mattered. There were far more pressing and urgent issues that demanded his attention. And where did the Devil turn to when he was in need of a solution?

Dr. Linda would certainly help him straighten out this mess. She’d give him an idea -- well, ask some questions until he devised one -- that would demystify this baffling standstill he and the Detective seemed to be locked in. How ever the Detective was feeling, he didn’t understand it. Couldn’t determine how best to approach it. His attempt last night at the crime scene had only backfired with all the subtlety of a nuclear blast. He saw again her recoil when he’d reached for her… If there were still underlying doubts on her part, he needed to know. Perhaps there was some merit to the possibility of couple’s therapy. 

That wasn’t a bad idea, he mused. The doctor had opened his eyes to his own self-denial on the path of self-discovery, hadn’t she? Not only acknowledge it, but relentlessly poke and prod at it until it gave up its secrets. Clearly, this was what Chloe needed. Under her shield of stoicism and defiant bravery, she harbored some sort of uncertainty she refused to recognize. He was confident with some time, the doctor could lead her to enlightenment or something. He could wait if it meant there might still be hope. 

Feeling positively inspired, Lucifer strode up to Linda’s office door, which he found was uncharacteristically closed. He knocked, but after a few seconds of silence passed, he tested the doorknob next and was surprised to find it locked. “Doctor?” Lucifer inquired, listening intently for any sign of life on the other side of the door. Well, this was fine! He was in dire need of her expertise and she was running late!

He shook his head at her thoughtlessness and retrieved his cell phone from his pocket to check for messages. She hadn’t even texted. He called her cell next but only received her voicemail, professionally assuring that she would respond within the day and to call 911 if it was an emergency. He rang her at home as well, considering that Charlie may have been the inconvenient cause for the delay, but after a steady course of five rings, was deposited at another voicemail. 

Frowning, he dialed her cell phone again and stood with his hand in his pocket. He would just have to leave a message. “Doctor, it’s me,” he announced in lieu of his name. After all, she would know immediately who it was. “I am standing outside your office for our session and, strangely, you are not. I would say I would stay and wait, but I have better things to do. I am going to speak with the Detective on my own.” About to end the call, he halted and returned the phone to his ear to hastily add, “I hope you are alright.”

Rejuvenated by his new plan, despite the complete lack of assistance by the doctor, Lucifer felt a little lighter. There was a definite bounce in his step. In fact, he was starting to feel downright optimistic. He considered his options. He could wait until tonight and meet the Detective back at their loft and try to speak to her then. He hadn’t returned home since she’d left Lux, deserting him. The night before had also gone poorly and he had retreated to the comforts he knew and could depend on. Even if only by the magic of money. 

Shaking off the depressing turn his thoughts had taken, he resolved to speak to Chloe sooner rather than later. If he allowed himself to wallow in doubt, haunted by shadows of his failures and shame, this already-devastating distance between them might only grow, fed by silence and fear.

A quick detour on his way to the precinct, and he was armed with a gift for the Detective: an iced frappe with extra mocha and a dash of caramel. She had acquired quite the sweet tooth with pregnancy, which he loved to indulge, especially since there were so many uses for all those delightful treats, and he got to reap the benefits. For a minute, he dawdled debating whether or not to bring her flowers. Her last reaction to a romantic gesture failed prodigiously. Still… some token to express his intentions might mean their conversation could begin on the right foot. 

Decided, he purchased a single white rose, hoping it would have the desired effect of communicating where his heart was and not instantly remind her of the Great Wedding Disaster. With peace offerings in hand, Lucifer slipped through the precinct entrance and descended the stairs, making his way to Chloe’s desk. He smiled and nodded a greeting at a passing officer, but when the man halted on the staircase, posed to ask a question, Lucifer dashed out, “Sorry, another time. In a hurry.”

He was disappointed to find she was not at her desk, which did somewhat spoil his entrance. She was probably fetching a file or using the ladies’ room and would return any moment; it wasn’t as though she was out on a case or in interrogation. He settled in to wait, perching atop the corner of her desk, positioning the coffee on its surface and tucking the rose inside his coat. 

“Can I help you?” a woman’s voice asked from behind him.

In his breast pocket, his phone vibrated, and he held up a finger in her direction. Seeing it was Amenadiel, he sent the call to his voicemail; his brother would have to wait.

He twisted at the waist to see who had addressed him. Andrea-something-or-other, a young, recent addition to the department. “Ah, no, thank you. I am waiting for the Detective,” he answered. 

“We have a few who are in the precinct today. Are you scheduled to see anyone in particular?” 

“Yes. Chloe. Decker,” he clarified, his tone imparting that it should have been glaringly obvious.

Her expression turned quizzical, but at last the Detective showed up, and Lucifer dismissed the confused officer entirely.

Chloe stopped short at seeing him at her desk and raised a single eyebrow. 

He knew that look. Part suspicion, a little considering, and mostly expectant. Clearing his throat, he offered her his best smile. “Before you say anything, I know the other night didn’t go as planned. Well, several of the last few nights, actually,” he corrected. Not wanting the conversation to steer into that collision course too soon, he hurried to continue. “But I was hoping we could try again. As you can see, I brought a gift,” he said, gesturing to the coffee on her desk.

Her eyes glanced at the coffee fleetingly, then returned to him. “I think—” she began, before he cut her off.

“Oh! I nearly forgot.” With a flourish, he presented her the rose, holding it out to her. “For you.”

She hesitated to accept it, and he mistook it for more disapproval. “Chloe, please. I wasn’t at my best the other night.”

Chloe shook her head, eyes guarded. When she spoke, her tone was carefully modulated, gentle even. “I’m sorry. I think you have me confused with somebody else.”

Whereupon her first few words, her apology, he’d started to relax, the rest of her sentence was like a blast of Arctic ice, freezing him in place. Scoffing, his first reaction was to ask, “You must be joking?” 

When she didn’t move to reply or come nearer, he tried again. “Of course I don’t have you confused with somebody else. You mean my… my expectations of you and our relationship. You think because I made faulty assumptions and put the cart before the horse, so to speak, I don’t really know you?”

He dropped his casual pose on the desk and came around the obstacle to stand before her. “How could I not know you? I know you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, will ever meet. I know I love you and, despite all this misunderstanding, you love me, too. I know how fearless and passionate your heart is, how amazing Trixie is because she has you for a mother, and how blessed our son is to have you for a mother as well.” 

She hadn’t interrupted or backed away during his speech, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he had finally managed to say it all _right,_ that she had stayed and listened.

“How do you know my daughter’s name?” Chloe demanded, voice like steel.

Lucifer experienced the oddest sense of falling again, though the room was still and his feet were planted on the ground. But all around him, he felt the world hover anxiously in a state of uncertainty, then sharply, suddenly, come tumbling down. One moment he had known where he was, familiar shapes and sounds, and the next he was in an alien landscape and everything was coldly foreign and unrecognizable.

“Chloe,” he said cautiously. “I’ve known Trixie for years. I bought her chocolate cake.”

“I don’t know who you are,” she said.

“I’m Lucifer. Morningstar. Retired King of Hell? Your partner?” She had to be kidding, he thought. There was no other explanation.

She shook her head. “I don’t know what you want, but I think you are clearly confused. Maybe you need to see a doctor? We can help you to the hospital. Otherwise, you should leave.”

His cell phone erupted into a musical jingle again and, impatiently, Lucifer yanked it from his coat, darting a look to the screen, and seeing that it was his brother again, ignored the call. He looked around desperately, finally landing on Ella on the way back to the lab.

“Ms. Lopez!” he called, waving an arm in the air.

Having caught her attention, he gestured madly for her to join them. She would tell Chloe who he was! Look at her right now, he thought, her warm eyes already concerned, and a welcoming smile on her face.

“What’s up?” Ella asked, looking between them. Her expression became more worried as she took in Chloe’s stiff, defensive posture.

“Ms. Lopez, would you please tell the Detective who I am?”

She smiled kindly. “Sure. Who are you?”

Dumbfounded, Lucifer stared at her. Not her too. What was going on here? “Lucifer. Remember?”

“Lucifer…” Ella drawled slowly, consideringly. He felt a little spark of hope that it was coming back to her.

“Yes?”

“Lucifer… like the Devil? That’s cool. Definitely helps you stand out from the other guys, y’know what I mean?” she answered with a playful wink.

“No,” he said dazedly. “No, I really don’t.”

Across the room, Detective Douche had noticed their awkward little huddle, and was steadily heading their way. Dan stopped next to Chloe and put his hands on his hips, fairly emanating “unwelcome.”

Lucifer grasped the last straw he could. “What about your pregnancy? How do you explain that if you say you don’t know who I am?”

Beside him, Ella became a statue, unnaturally still and just as expressionless. “That’s their baby, Lucifer,” she said hollowly before she turned and walked away without another word to anyone.

Lucifer stared after her in a mixture of concern and disbelief until Dan’s attention pulled him back.

“Okay buddy,” Dan said, standing so closely and protectively at Chloe’s side that it made Lucifer’s hackles rise, “I think it’s time for you to go. You’re upsetting people. Whatever sick joke you’re playing, it’s over.” He placed a hand on Chloe’s back and led her away.

Standing there alone, in the center of the room, Lucifer struggled to compute everything that had just transpired, to find some understanding of the farce that had unfolded before him. But there was nothing, no rationale he could find that fit. 

The annoying ringtone sounded from his pocket once more, and he blindly fumbled for the device. With barely a passing glance at the number on the screen, he brought the phone to his ear. “Yes?” he asked dully.

“Lucifer! Thank Our Father! I’ve been trying to call you for an hour,” Amenadiel exclaimed.

“Sorry, I’ve been a little busy,” he snapped back. One person in the whole world who seemed to recognize him and it had to be Amenadiel of all people. Grand. “What is it that is so important?”

“I need to ask… Can you come bail me out?”

~o0o~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re feeling angsty, there are some beautiful previous chapters to revisit… Because honestly, my loves, Karina’s plans are only just beginning… Also, please feed my hungry “prima donna” (M’s words) because I will be absolutely worthless without your feedback. Lastly, please stay safe and healthy, and wash your hands frequently. - Wordsaremagick


	10. Determined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest readers, 
> 
> Please accept our apologies for the delayed post this week. With both of us working from home and becoming increasingly busy in our various roles (daughter, mother, wife, teacher, attorney, co-authors), we’re still trying to get a rhythm down and even our best intentions to set aside time for writing are often thwarted by life. We absolutely intend to continue to post weekly updates, but may work in a little leniency for “weekend” deliveries. Getting it together by Friday, when our schedules have had to change so much, has been complicated. Hopefully, you’ll continue to share your time with us!
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely comments. We are so glad to have this as a fun, creative outlet to look forward to. All our love, M&E

~o0o~

“It was chaos, brother,” said Amenadiel.

Lucifer’s heavy sigh was his only reply as he passed a thick roll of bills to the officer behind the desk, not even bothering to count. His agitated state had nothing to do with the monetary cost his brother had interposed on him and everything to do with his untimely interruption. Whilst seeing his perfect brother subject to the throes and pratfalls of humanity’s foibles was a source of entertainment that would never grow old, this time not even he could use levity to lighten or mask the very grave and discomfiting certainty that something in his reality was terribly, terribly wrong.

And what he needed to be doing was finding an explanation and a solution, not expending precious time on Amenadiel’s trifles. 

His mind was as far away as his patience, so it took a few seconds longer than it should have for Lucifer to tune back into the remainder of Amenadiel’s explanation of what had happened to occasion his arrest. When he’d asked his brother how he had managed to get himself arrested, Lucifer had expected the short version of the story, not one with extraneous commentary and lead-up; thus, his thoughts had transferred to his chief concern and were slow to return.

“Wait, what did you say?” Lucifer asked, stopping in the hallway and seizing Amenadiel’s bicep to bring him to an immediate halt. He glanced around to check their privacy and used a quieter tone. “ _How_ did this happen?”

Amenadiel stared back at him, nonplussed. “You didn’t listen to anything I just said, did you?”

“Not really,” Lucifer said. “But never mind that now. Repeat what you said right before the part with the cans.”

“The _pans,_ Luci,” his brother corrected. Amenadiel’s brown eyes darted heavenward in a silent, and most likely simultaneous, plea for patience and retribution.

Lucifer motioned with his hand for Amenadiel to hurry up. “Whatever.”

After a long-suffering sigh, as if Amenadiel were the one dealing with his entire life in sudden upheaval, he recounted the events of the morning again, beginning with his return from the supermarket.

“I walked in the door and it started before I even finished bringing in all the grocery bags,” said Amenadiel. “I’d only left an hour before - Charlie needed diapers and baby Tylenol. I was out and back in hardly any time and she started screaming at me before I put all the bags in the kitchen. At first I thought it was because I’d bought a small canister of formula - you know how stubborn she is, and I understand how badly she wants to keep up breastfeeding Charlie but she’s exhausting herself and—-” Realizing he was running off-track, Amenadiel stopped and shook his head once. “Never mind, not the point, but I thought she was upset with me at first because of all the screaming.”

He continued, describing how Linda’s eyes had become a little wild. Coming upon him in the kitchen from the direction of the bedrooms, she’d seen him and immediately froze. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?” Linda had asked.

“Sweetheart, it’s me. I live here,” he’d said, but each time he tried to prove his identity to her, she became more and more hysterical, denying she had ever seen him before in her life. 

“This is not your house,” said Linda. “You need to leave right now.” 

“Well, no, of course it’s _your_ house,” Amenadiel agreed, feeling a brief sting of offended pride. It wasn’t as though he didn’t do his share, he thought. 

“Please. I promise… I won’t call the police if you just leave,” she’d said, voice shaking.

“There’s no need to call the police,” he tried to assure her. “I promised you after Charlie was abducted I would always be here. There’s no need to be afraid. I won’t let anything happen to him or y—” Amenadiel wasn’t even able to complete his sentence because although he’d meant his words to put her at ease, to convince her that this wasn’t a trick, no one was in jeopardy, his promise had the complete opposite effect. 

“You stay away from my baby! Get out!” She sprang into motion, leaving her position guarding the path to the room in which Charlie slept. Coming no closer than was necessary, and keeping herself safely out of reach, Linda seized a frying pan from its hook on the wall and chucked it at him. She began making her way along the counter, using every pot, pan, and lid within her reach as a weapon. 

The arsenal of projectiles hurled at him successfully deterred him from daring to come any closer. ‘Stop! Linda! Linda, stop!’ He ducked from one pot reflexively rather than from any concern it could do him injury and was subsequently whacked in the face by a glass lid that had come spinning like a frisbee. Damn, she did have a good arm, he thought. The rebounding cacophony of metal clattering as it hit the floor was equally disorienting, making it impossible to try to talk to her over the din. 

She lunged for the counter on the other side of the refrigerator and he realized what her target had been while she distracted him with the cookware. Linda seized two of the largest knives from the block and brandished them at him, waving them in wild circle patterns in the air. “I’m warning you! Out!”

Amenadiel hadn’t waded through the harmless siege of saucepans mostly because he didn’t want to frighten her further and somewhat from shock at the entire situation. Already obviously terrified, the last thing he wanted was to push her beyond her limits, and he couldn’t stomach even the thought of causing her distress or pain. She was the mother of his child and the only human woman he’d ever loved, and likely ever would. But at that moment, warily watching her unsteadily wielding the steak knives, he knew he had to retreat or she may very well hurt herself.

“Okay,” he told her as calmly as possible, hands held up in the air around the height of his shoulders. “Okay, I’m going. I promise I don’t mean you any harm.”

Backing away slowly, eyeing her carefully, Amenadiel made a slow exit. He wanted her to put down the knives and take a deep breath because the look in her eyes, and the sound of each hoarse, panicked breath, was concerning him. Her eyes had become overly-large and bright, seemingly glued to him, yet also frantically incapable of resting in one place. Her focus jumped erratically from his face to his hands, down, back up, and skittered around him again.

Then he took another step back and found himself abruptly wrestled from behind, and he staggered before he was knocked to his knees. Sharp metal was snapped around his wrists and a loud, commanding voice ordered him to remain still before reciting his rights under arrest. As he was muscled to the cop car waiting outside, he finally gave up his fruitless protestations and attempts to explain he was her child’s father. He quickly grasped that fact wasn’t helping his situation at all and seemed to actually agitate one of the female police officers further.

Trying another tack, Amenadiel asked to speak with Dan or Chloe, both of whom knew him and could straighten everything out, but this request was also summarily ignored. Assisted into the backseat of the car, he numbly watched through the window as Linda was led back inside by her next-door neighbor. Mrs. Martinez, he thought. She must have heard yelling and called the police, he surmised. And though that made perfect sense, he was utterly baffled as to why Linda had reacted the way she did, every fiber of her being adamant that she didn’t recognize him, and worse, perceived him as a threat. He was cut off from Linda and from his son, and he had no idea why.

“This is impossible,” Lucifer breathed. “How could neither of them recognize us? It’s like we’ve never met…”

“Wait,” Amenadiel shook his head. “It happened to you too?”

Considering this new nugget of information, Lucifer answered absently, “With the exception of being arrested, of course. Must not give off the same tone of pedo-intruder.”

His brother protested, “I _live_ there. Charlie is my _son._ Linda is my… whatever.”

“Yes, yes. I know. Focus on the important bits here, Amenadiel. Chloe doesn’t know who I am. She thinks the baby is Daniel’s, or maybe reality changed and he really is, in which case…” He left that thought trail away, knowing the result would be horrendous. “What could have caused this and why?”

Resuming the walk down the hall to the precinct exit, they were quietly pensive. When Amenadiel spoke again, his voice was soft and hesitant. “Luci… do you think it was Remy?”

“Remy?” Lucifer frowned.

“I put her off, I thought, convinced her to go… but maybe it was only temporary. Maybe this,” his gaze swept around the room of people going about their jobs, oblivious that their lives had at all slid against angels and devils, or that their world had been altered. “Maybe this was to cut our contacts here, take Charlie back to the Silver City, to make it impossible to keep our lives here.”

“Well, you have your wings brother. Zip up there and find out,” suggested Lucifer.

Amenadiel shook his head, dismissing the proposal. “Just doing so could draw the wrong kind of attention. If it isn’t Remy, I’d practically be giving her an invitation. Why don’t _you_ go ask?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Lucifer snorted. With a more somber tone he added quietly, “The next time I meet those gates, there is no leaving.”

Somewhere from their left came a loud, acerbic, and impossible-to-miss voice expressing, as it yelled out, “Stuff it or I’ll stuff my boot up your ass!”, very clearly the owner’s authority and refusal to tolerate any insurrection. It was a beautiful sound. Snapping around and scanning the room, Lucifer quickly located Maze. 

“We should warn her,” said Amenadiel. “She might get angry when people—” he came to an abrupt stop.

As they watched in confusion, Maze was approached by an officer who nodded and motioned for his partner to collect the handcuffed criminal Maze had brought it and tossed into a chair. The two continued to chat for another minute before Maze turned to leave and, Lucifer watched incredulously, actually _fist-bumped_ the officer. 

“Yo, Maze!” called a voice across the room. She nodded in response and shouted back, “‘Sup Tony?” on her way to the exit.

“They know her,” murmured Lucifer. “Or we’ve stepped into an alternate reality where Maze likes people.”

“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” said Amenadiel.

~o0o~

“So, let me get this straight… You wake up 48 hours after you’ve executed the worst surprise in the history of time, fight with the mother of your unborn child, storm off, get drunk, wake up the next day to go apologize, and she totally rebuffs you and now you think there is some huge conspiracy at play because she doesn’t want to talk to you?” Maze asked half-mockingly, half-incredulously. 

“Yes. Well, no. Yes, and no,” Lucifer spat, slightly agitated. 

“Yes, all those things happened, but there is something going on here. Maze, it’s not just that she doesn’t want to talk to me. She did talk to me, which I thought was progress, but she spoke to me _because_ she didn’t know who I was. It’s as if she has no recollection whatsoever of who I am or any of the things we’ve been through together.” 

“In light of your most recent shitshow of a wedding, I fail to see how this is all that bad. If she can't remember what a colossal idiot you are, you’re better off than you were two days ago,” Maze said laughingly.

“Mazikeen, I… you know that I do not lie! There is something going on here! Tell her, Brother! Tell her what happened with Linda!”

Taking three steps in Amenadiel’s direction, simultaneously unsheathing both daggers from the seemingly hidden compartments of her always-tight leather outfits, “What the hell did you do to Linda?! I swear I will cut your bal--”

“Maze, baby, just give them a second maybe. They are both clearly upset and maybe we can help,” Eve offered, stepping in front of Maze and gently steering her away from her intent.

As tempers simmered, the group settled into the penthouse’s leather couches, and Amenadiel recounted his earlier interaction with Linda and his brief stint in jail. Although Maze found it impossible not to laugh at the mighty celestials sitting in front of her, she was beginning to see that something was indeed amiss. 

“Okay, so, let’s say all this is true…”

“It is true!” Lucifer interrupted, before Amenadiel steadied him with a heavy hand and gentle squeeze to his shoulder. 

“Let’s say, this is real. Linda and Chloe, and Ella, and the Douche… they don’t know who you are...but they know who I am,” Maze stopped, eyeing the brothers with heat in her gaze, “I will kill you both if my best friend doesn’t even know me anymore!” Eve mirrored Amenadiel’s gentle touch, soothing Maze’s ire. 

Amenadiel steered the conversation back to something that could at least resemble productivity, “How could it be that they know and remember you, like you even, but it’s as if their memories of us have been wiped clean? Where’s the distinction?”

“Men?” Eve offered the obvious similarity.

“No, can’t be, the Douche is still in the mix,” Maze dismissed.

“Fathers, or fathers-to-be are out then, too, because..”

All present, in unison announced, “ _Douche_.” 

“Celestials?” Eve tried again.

“Good try; Mazikeen would be included in that though being a demon and all,” Lucifer spewed in her direction, dismissing his ex-girlfriend’s useless contributions.

“Well, not so fast, Luci. Mazikeen is a demon, yes. She is otherworldly..” Amenadiel corrected as he offered Eve a nod in acknowledgement and continued. 

“Damn right I am!” Maze boasted.

Shaking his head in mild amusement, “Maze was born out of need in the bowels of Hell.”

“Forged in fire, baby!” she exclaimed again, relishing the credit she was being given.

“Oh give it a rest, Maze!” Lucifer reprimanded before continuing, “So, you’re saying what…? That our lovers somehow don’t know us because we’re Divine?” 

“Maybe. Could be that we’re Divine, or Angels, or simply of God. One way to test the theory is to see how they react to Eve. While she’s not an angel in the biblical sense of the word,” he smiled softly in her direction as she blushed and scrunched her nose at the veiled compliment, “She was a resident in the Silver City before chasing you back down here. If our friends don’t remember her, that would give us some more clarity.”

“Alright,” Lucifer shot up from the couch, grabbed Eve by the wrist, and began to pull her along to the elevator, “let’s go!”

“What are you doing!?”

“Testing your bloody theory. I cannot just sit here positing this, that, and the other. Chloe is weeks away from giving birth to our child and has no bloody idea who the Hell I am! Whatever is wrong, we need to hurry up and figure it out before I lose everything… again!” 

Amenadiel could sense the panic in Lucifer’s tone and recalled the distress of being a helpless father-to-be when Linda was going through bouts of morning sickness, Braxton Hicks, and the intense pain of labor for Charlie. He remembered that agony that accompanied seeing her in pain and having to go through it alone, but he also remembered the privilege of being by her side to comfort her and to be seen as her partner through it all. Lucifer was in that place of helplessness, but was also being denied the opportunity to be there for her and the baby. That was something he knew would be devastating.

“Luci, slow down. Listen, I cannot imagine what you are going through right now, but we need to be strategic about this. Especially when it comes to Chloe. We don’t want to stress her too much or frighten her. Let’s just take a second to plan the next move.” 

Mazikeen came up beside Lucifer and Eve, comforting them both and leading them back to the couches. She stopped at the bar and poured a drink. She returned to the group and handed it to Lucifer, surprising even herself. As if regressing into muscle memory, she located his favorite bottle, poured two fingers, and offered it to him without even recognizing her body was moving of its own volition. It’d been years since she’d poured him a drink, served him, but somehow seeing him in this state triggered that innate desire in her to protect him. 

Lucifer accepted the glass with a thankful look in his eyes and a tenderness he knew Maze would accept, even if she didn’t appreciate it. “So, what do we do?”

Silence swelled around the group as they each mulled over the situation and pondered where to even start. Then, Eve spoke, “Babe, you sorta do this for a living. Catching bad guys and stuff. What do you do when you need to find one of your bounties?”

“Right. Uh, well I am crazy good at catching bad people and punishing them. I’ve tried to tell the Douche several times that catching them starts with thinking like them. I’m not sure how that can help here.” 

Again, they sat in silence. 

Lucifer spoke softly, “Maze, actually, that helps. When Daniel and I had to work together because Chloe was out planning her wedding to Cain,” he shuddered with the realization she said “yes” to Pierce and even excitedly planned her nuptials, but reacted so poorly to his grand gesture. Wounded, he continued, “Detective Espinoza and I considered what Chloe would do to help us get a different perspective.” 

“Great idea! I’m not sure it will solve the riddle behind the memory wipe, but Chloe is an incredible detective and if we can somehow get her involved, she might be able to help.” 

“Yeah. But we can’t just waltz in there and be all ‘I’m the Devil and he’s an Angel and someone has wiped your memory, so help us maybe?’ Can we!?” Lucifer exclaimed.

“Well, you two can’t because she thinks _you_ are insane and _you_ have a recent arrest on the books. But, maybe I can,” Maze offered pointedly. “If this whole thing doesn’t apply to me, I can do a little match-making and see if I can smash you two back into your work partnership and then see what happens.”

Lucifer peered at her from behind the lowball rim. 

“Unless you’re not so sure of your abilities to woo her, Lucifer. It did take you over three years to get her in the sack,” Maze teased. 

“Care to make a wager?” A familiar glint of deviltry emerged. Reinvigorated, Lucifer smiled for the first time in days. 

~o0o~

_What_ was that? thought Chloe. 

She had met a lot of weirdos in her lifetime, and not all because of her profession as a cop - the beckoning glow of Hollywood attracted many strange, strange folk as well. But in all her time on the force, she had never encountered anything as bizarre as that. 

A man, a complete stranger, walking straight up to her and acting like he not only knew her, he had a relationship with her; like he loved her. And that’s all it was, she reminded herself, shaking her head. An act. He was either completely looney or a damn good actor - for a moment, he almost had _her_ convinced. That was the power of true skill… to make the audience believe in the complete suspension of reality.

That was probably it. With a name like Lucifer, he had to be. He had probably come in as a stunt to see how well he could carry it off or as a prank or lark, she decided, studying the white rose in her hand. Every thorn had been neatly trimmed away and the blossom cut at the perfect moment of unfurling, caught between the promise of new life and the exultant display of beauty. Brushing a fingertip along the creamy soft petals, she laid the white rose on her desk again. He’d left it there when he’d gone and every time she picked it up to toss it away, her thoughts got stuck on that man again and how he’d looked at her… 

With a sigh of defeat, Chloe stood and crossed to the kitchenette in the corner of the precinct, scavenging in the cupboards until she found a styrofoam cup left behind from a company lunch. She filled it a third of the way with water and brought it back to her desk. Feeling a little silly, but equally reluctant to part with the flower, she placed it in its substitute vase. She sat down again. Without the conflicting feelings about the rose bugging her, her mind was a little clearer. Maybe she could get back to work.

“Hey.”

Chloe’s head jerked up and she saw Dan standing next to her desk. “Hey,” she answered.

Dan reached for a chair and sank back into it, easy and relaxed posture at odds with the contemplative and assessing look in his eyes. She hated that look. It was the one that said he didn’t believe her so he’d humor her while he continued his own way with his own opinion. She’d been on the receiving end of that too many times in the last year they were still married. He’d treated her to that as she argued in vain about her suspicions concerning Malcolm Graham and all the while he’d known she was right. And despite her being right, he did the same thing when she doubted the intentions of the former lieutenant, Pierce. 

“What is it, Dan?” she asked.

Still eyeing her warily, Dan said, “I just wanted to see if you’re okay. After that weird guy.”

“Okay.”

“So… are you?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course. I’m fine,” Chloe said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He looked away from her, and she followed his line of sight, landing on the makeshift vase. Although his face and voice were expressionless, she wasn’t fooled. He didn’t like any part of it. The weirdo, the rose, or her reaction. 

“It’s just a pretty flower,” she muttered defensively. 

“I’m only making sure you’re going to be careful,” Dan said. Already, he had entered the ‘humoring Chloe’ portion of the program. 

Growing annoyed in addition to the unsettled feeling she’d had since the incident, Chloe got up. “And how am I not being careful? What does that even mean, Dan?” He didn’t have any answer, not that she waited for one. 

Their relationship was so tense since her pregnancy. But whose wouldn’t be under the same conditions? Waking up one day and discovering you’re pregnant with your ex would be a nightmare for anyone, especially when it was completely unintended. That was what made it so awful… Dan was old-fashioned at heart. His general protectiveness stemmed from the foundations built soul-deep; he believed in loyalty and responsibility. So what was a guy like that going to do? 

“The right thing,” of course. But it didn’t feel right, not to her. It had been a painful conversation, and she knew Dan was still smarting from her rejection, but the last thing she wanted was to live a cruel parody of a happy family. All the reasons they had broken up in the first place were still there, doomed to promise to repeat. Even accepting they had apparently sought some kind of solace in each other one night did not mean they could begin anew. Her heart just wasn’t there, and though he was too bullheaded to admit it, his wasn’t either. 

Chloe stared down into the mug of decaf she’d poured for herself. “What a mess,” she mumbled.

“What? Oh, hey Chloe,” Ella said, coming in to refill her own cup of java. “Hey…” The sweet-natured brunette frowned in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, completely. Dan just annoyed me a little,” Chloe assured her with a friendly smile. It had seemed their relationship was strained too, since her pregnancy. Chloe didn’t have truly close, intimate friends; it had always been difficult, for some reason, to let people in. Yet it had seemed like she and Ella were getting along great, hanging outside of work, having fun… and then it was as if someone had hit the pause button. Ella was still awesome, kind and caring, but there was a difference there she couldn’t quite identify. 

Ella made a humming noise. “Well, I guess he can be like that,” was all she said. Then, “I’d better get back to the lab. I’ll see you.”

“Right,” she agreed softly. “See you.”

~o0o~


	11. >>> UPDATE <<<

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a chapter. Just an update.

Hi everyone. 

Thank you to those of you who've asked about our well-being and that of our families. E and I have had a hard few weeks. Sometimes mental health can be a crazy thing, and when both of us fall into that place, we cant rely on each other as much to help us fight our way out. We're doing much better now. 

We love you all very much and are so touched by your concern. We finally think both of us are coming out on the other side and have had a few writing sessions to get back into the groove. With any luck, we'll have a chapter to give you this evening. 

All our love, 

M&E


	12. Cover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, 
> 
> First, I wanted to apologize for the long delay and also let you know how lovely each of you have been in offering encouragement while E and I worked our way out of our respective caves and back into the light. 
> 
> (I crawled into a dark corner in my room, and sort of spiraled from there. Sadly, I brought M down with me for a bit too. I’m much better now, I promise. It wasn’t really because of the pandemic or Covid-related; life just kicks my ass from time to time. I don’t believe mental health is a topic to be ashamed of. We all struggle to one degree or another. But I wanted to tell you all thanks for your sweetness and how much it meant to me. -E)
> 
> Unfortunately, as we both emerged, I found myself taken out by another hidden foe. This one sent me to the ER and into emergency surgery. I'm finally on the mend, E has been a great friend (and nurse), and I'm nearly back to 100% just with one fewer organ! 
> 
> We really can't tell you how much we appreciate you all sticking with us despite this very lengthy delay. It's been quite the whirlwind, but we hope to get back to our regularly scheduled updates from here on out.
> 
> Much love!

~o0o~

“What do you mean you haven’t figured out a way for me to work with the Detective?” Lucifer asked, the question carrying more rebuke than confusion.

Maze, who had only entered the penthouse two minutes prior to the inquisition, crossed her arms defensively. “It’s not that simple, Lucifer. She’s on desk duty, remember? What will she need your help with - reorganizing the filing cabinets? We all know how well that went the last time you tried to ‘help’.”

“I’ll remind you, Mazikeen,” Lucifer said, pausing in the motion of raising his tumbler to his mouth to point an accusatory finger at her, “that we solved that case because of my expert file sorting! I’m certain there’s utility in organizing cases by ‘sexy suspects’ despite the Detective’s protestations and demands to help her re-file everything. That took us a literal eternity, by the way,” he added, punctuating the statement with a hearty sip.

“You are so dramatic, Lucifer. Let’s think about how we do this and stop your whining!” 

Defeated, Lucifer slumped into the recliner, feeling forlorn and depressed. “Maze, I’d do anything to just have one more evening of paperwork next to her. I’m struggling,” he admitted in all sincerity and with an unusual vulnerability in the presence of his notoriously unsympathetic demon. 

Their eyes met in silent acknowledgement of the many myriad complexities and challenges before them. Finding a way to establish himself in Chloe’s life again was only the first hurdle. It did nothing to solve how this impossible situation had come to pass to begin with, nor did it formulate a solution, an antidote, to whatever madness had taken hold of their friends. He couldn’t, he refused, to walk away from her, to leave her and their child vulnerable and unprotected, while he hunted down whatever despicable creature was responsible and saw they were satisfactorily, justifiably, punished. Somehow he must ensure she allowed him close again and then he could start investigating, starting from the moment everything had begun to go sideways; when something wasn’t quite right…

Lucifer stood still, fixed by the sense of a stirring memory at the peripheral of awareness. What had his internal monologue prodded to the surface? Something wasn’t right…?

‘I think something is happening here’ she’d said. That was the night before he’d gone to see her at the precinct and she’d reacted as though she’d never seen him before in her life. Was it a long shot to believe there may be a connection there?

“Maze,” he said slowly, “I think I may have it.”

“Have what?” she asked, arms still folded and posture rigid, although her eyes followed his every movement.

“A way to work with the detective again,” he clarified. “The last night we spoke whilst she knew who I was, we were at a crime scene. She said something… I dismissed it at the time, but now that I think of it, it’s almost uncanny. I need you to get me the case file. I think it will give me a way in.”

She shook her head, “But Lucifer… she isn’t working cases, remember?”

“Doesn’t matter. You said you were successful because you think the way they do, yes? The criminals? I have to think as she would. The homicide that night was important to her for some reason.”

With a sigh, Maze asked quietly, and not a little apologetically, “Have you considered Chloe was just using the case as a distraction after everything that happened with you two?”

“Maybe,” Lucifer admitted. “But maybe not. Maybe that’s my way in. She thought something was there and I don’t doubt her instincts, ever. At the very least, it’s worth a try.”

Maze nodded, “Okay. I don’t know if it will do anything, but you’re right. It’s worth a try. I shouldn’t have a problem getting my hands on it—” The faint ping of the elevator resounded, interrupting the end of her sentence, followed by a bellowed, “Luci!?” 

“It just keeps getting better and better!” Lucifer groaned, agitated, and recognizing Amenadiel’s voice. 

Exasperated, Amenadiel exclaimed, “There you are, Brother! I’ve been calling, but you didn’t answer!”

“So, naturally,” Lucifer started in with unshielded annoyance, “when someone doesn’t reply to your incessant pestering, your reaction is to bother them in-person. I’m starting to understand why Linda reacted the way she did!” 

Lucifer had a way about him of always being able to find the softest spot, the most painful target, and the uncanny skill of expertly driving a dagger right through it. All those eons in Hell, it’s not surprising that he’d be so talented doling out pain. But as the words fell out of his mouth, seeing Amenadiel wince and deflate a little where he stood, Lucifer realized how similar their circumstances were. They were both suffering, similar trials, identical struggles; love lost and a longing to be back where they belonged, near to their partners and sons. How human of him, he thought as he stood, placing a gentle but firm hand on his brother’s strong shoulder. In acceptance of the offer of an unspoken apology, Amenadiel nodded and returned the gesture. 

“So, when the kumbaya bro session is done, can we get back to strategy?” Maze interrupted. 

“That’s actually why I’m here! I think I have a way to get into the precinct,” Amenadiel shared, as Lucifer made his way toward the bar. 

Amenadiel thoughtfully explained the call he’d received from the station earlier in the day. Linda had agreed to forego pressing charges against him, but had also oddly left a message for him which the detective who called agreed, with much displeasure, to read aloud to him over the phone. 

She’d apparently deduced that Amenadiel had suffered a dissociative episode and truly believed himself to be the father of her son. In her line of work, she’d seen many patients with dissociative identity disorder and his convincing and adamant statements of paternity had touched her as a new mother. Linda implored him to seek psychiatric therapy in lieu of serving jail time. She felt she owed him as much as she’d often prayed over her son for his safety and strength knowing he’d grow up without a father figure. 

Amenadiel fought back tears as he struggled to relay the message. Even in her fear, Linda always led with kindness and a servant’s heart, always faithfully guiding those in need toward healing. She had obviously researched the alarming statistics regarding the disproportionate amount of young black males incarcerated as a result of the cyclical nature of relative deprivation. She shared in her note that in instances where a father figure was lacking, the likelihood was even greater. Dr. Linda had concluded from their brief encounter that Amenadiel’s delusions were most likely attributable to a lack of a loving, positive male presence in his life during his adolescence. 

“Hit the nail on the head!” Lucifer snickered. “Even having her memory wiped, she absolutely nailed our daddy issues whilst simultaneously hurling various kitchenware at you. Damn, but she is good!” 

“Taught her everything she knows,” Maze smirked. 

“Good one, Mazikeen,” Lucifer laughed. “Right, sorry,” he apologized, addressing the clearly peeved other angel in the room, “Well, that’s all warm and fuzzy, but I fail to see how that gets us any closer to  _ my  _ Detective. From the sound of it, Brother, I’ll be out more money because, Dad knows, you don't have a dime to your name, and we remain no nearer to solving this debacle, let alone figuring out from where it originated.” 

“Luci, don’t you see? Right now, we need to get into the building without being stopped at the door.”

“He’s right, ya know,” Maze added, “You two can’t just walk in there anymore. I’m still good to go, but he doesn’t have a great track record there right now and you’re one uninvited visit away from being labeled ‘Stalker.’” 

Amenadiel gestured in Mazikeen’s direction in enthusiastic agreement. “We can go, but under the guise of paying this fine, you can come with, and ‘bump’ into her.” 

“Well, if you two are gonna do this, I am definitely tagging along to watch the show. If it doesn’t fail miserably from the get-go, maybe I’ll even help a little.” 

With an easy grin, Lucifer conceded, “ _ And _ , you can arrange to obtain that file.” He set his empty glass on the side table with a decisive clink. “Alright, but I’ll need some time to prepare. I may not have many chances at this and I’ll need to make sure I’m unusually irresistible. I know just the suit for the occasion. She couldn’t keep her hands off me the last time I wore -- or rather,  _ took it off _ . Come to think of it, the things we did right in that very seat, Amenadiel...unspeakable acts.”

“Ahh, Luci! T-M-I!” Amenadiel exclaimed in disgust as he shot up out of the leather over-sized chair, wiping his hands on his pants. 

~o0o~

I had to arrange Jennifer’s death so that it would not be discovered until the next dawn. At first I considered secreting her remains to the untamed edges of the property, burying her there where no one but the owls and crickets would look, and craft a sorrowful sentence or two in her hand explaining why it was best that she leave, left to be discovered on the morrow. But as I thought about it, I reconsidered the advantages of mourning her death rather than her defection. While it would not do for my lambs to comprehend what killed her, there were innumerable benefits to acknowledging and sharing Jennifer’s death with the sisterhood.

A runaway, a missing friend, would stir curiosity, concerns… It would be a… what was the phrase? A loose end that could never be tied. Unable to confirm my story, there would be room for doubts, worry, perhaps a desire to search for her. This solution was far more permanent and simpler to manage.

I considered the various methods for staging her death. Jennifer was too peaceful for anything violent in nature; it would simply be too much contrast to her personality. An accidental fatality was a possibility. I could fake a medical error, such as a mistake injecting her insulin. A heart attack would be too unlikely to be believed, though ironically it was the closest to the truth. The price of magic was a tremendous toll on the human body. Though there had been abundant spiritual energy, enough shards of the divine to combine and channel the casting, the ordeal had still been too much for Jennifer. Surprising, really. The brightest, purest souls possessed the greatest force, while those shadowed and dimmed were easily overpowered. I had not expected sweet, docile Jennifer of harboring so much darkness.

I sighed and sat beside Jennifer’s prone form laid out on the bed. Just yesterday her cheeks had been pink with life, her eyes bright and smiling. I stroked her hair, allowing a moment for grief, an emotion I have known too much in my life and one I have not permitted myself to feel in lifetimes. Every babe that never took breath, every seed that never took root… 

Grief can ravage the soul if you let it. I haven’t succumbed to its destructive appetite yet and I never will. To give up, to surrender, is not something I could accept; I might as well flee to my prison and hide with chains and locks across the door. 

Inspiration struck as I combed through Jennifer’s hair, contemplating that invisible monster that devours from the inside like a cancer, consuming until all that is left is a decayed, desiccated shell where a soul once lived. Whether slowly, silently, or as a powerful squall that is here and gone again in mere minutes, either could leave the landscape unrecognizable in their wake. Erased was the person you used to or planned to be. Jennifer would be one of grief’s victims.

The most convincing lies were those grounded by truth. This subterfuge was no different. Having been taken into Jennifer’s confidence from the first, oh my sweet little lamb!, I knew the memories that haunted her. And as her death had now illuminated, her soul carried dark secrets, turmoil, and sin. Yes, that would do. All there was left to do was pen her note, expressing her last wishes and tearful goodbyes, and obtain a likely medication to fit an overdose. Even now, if not for the tinge of her skin, she could be serenely lost in slumber. 

I truly hated losing her. But her death would not be in vain, and as she had in life, serve a purpose. It was tragic that the spell drained her, sucking the life from her like marrow drawn from bones. So frail, these souls. At least her sacrifice was not for nothing. The casting was successful. It shrouded the knowledge the close-knit band of humans shared of Lucifer Morningstar, blinded the eyes to anything contrary, and as for any little anomalies - the human brain would take care of the rest, filling in the blanks and rewriting when necessary. The mind sees only what it expects to see. For added insurance, the casting will spread, originating with the small group and rippling outward. Transferred from one human to the next and the next, until not only did his companions see him as a stranger, no memory of him would exist in conscious thought anywhere.

Even a spell such as this, one that disguises and seals off the truth, takes prodigious energy. We are not yet to the force it will require to rewrite God’s will. For the time being, the spell will keep His son too busy chasing his own tail to interfere with my plans. His pretty pregnant detective will also be suitably occupied dealing with his attempts to restore her memory, affording me ample time to collect more souls.

The sisterhood we’ve begun here at the retreat will grow, and Jennifer’s passing will bring us even closer together, cementing the permanence of their convictions and loyalty. They will know my love as I cry for our loss, as I care for little Isabella as if she were my own flesh and blood, as I put their emotional well-being first above all else. 

The ceremony tomorrow will be beautiful. We will follow Jennifer’s last requests to the letter; Isabella will be entrusted to me, we will have counseling for the sisterhood to help them through this troubled time, and as Jennifer implored, to heal any secret wounds the other girls may suffer before it becomes too late for them too - she would never want her fate to befall one of us, and of course… she will be buried here beside a lovely bed of flowers where her grave can be visited every day. Always reminding the lambs that here is where they are safest, here is where every need is fulfilled, and here is where they are strong.

~o0o~

Chloe was lucky she’d gotten through that department meeting without Lt. Sanders asking her to do or say anything. Truth be told, she wasn’t paying much attention to the morning debriefs anymore -- most of the rundown no longer concerned her anyway. Each new day at the precinct began with a very real difficulty to stay awake and alert, made more painful without the caffeine needed to avoid a head-desk  moment by two o’clock each afternoon.

Desk duty was oddly exhausting; the lack of physical activity and the mind-numbing realities of having to push paper day-in and day-out were more than taking their toll. She’d felt more energetic the weeks before in the hot sun and running around, it was like someone zapped the life out of her. Boredom was a slow and painful, agonizing death.

Sure, she was more than bored with the monotony of work, but her inattention was not only brought on by her ennui. Two things were consuming her thoughts and neither one of them were any of her business. The first was closer to her wheelhouse as a detective, but still outside the scope of her current job description since being sidelined by the  Lieutenant . There was something bothering her about the seemingly disconnected murder cases that had come in the department over the last months. The M.O. was different, the victims didn’t seem to have anything in common, but her gut told her that there was something in the unknown that tied them together. She just had to find it. 

The second was much more  embarrassing. Chloe was, by anyone’s description, a collected, level-headed woman, generally unruffled by the unexpected, and passionate about her job and her family, and yet... uncharacteristically, she found herself distracted by the memory of that well-dressed, handsome British man who’d all but knelt down on one knee as he confessed his love and an apology right there in the bullpen. He was strange, and the whole situation was absurd, but also oddly endearing. He seemed so certain and even though she didn't understand why or how, it felt familiar, which was truthfully the most disarming part.

As they exited the conference room, Chloe paused at the threshold, her mind wandered back to him. Something inside her, like the hands of a clock steadily ticking away the passing time, froze, and stopped her in her place. In the space of that suspended second, she knew.

He was back. She could  _ feel _ it. 

Ahead of her, Dan shouted a greeting to Maze, who had just entered the precinct with two men. As Chloe descended the stairs to the main floor carefully, trying and failing to get a better glimpse of the mens’ features, even from her poor vantage point and limited angle, she knew it was him. Some kind of sixth sense almost had alerted her the moment they had both entered the same room.

In a city of 10 million people, the odds of a second chance encounter with a complete stranger were astronomical enough, but factor in the relative likelihood that “chance” had little to do with it, and those figures plummeted dramatically. So, the question was, what stimulus had drawn him in this direction to begin with, and why did it include her of all the people in Los Angeles?

By the time she had reached the main floor, the two men were gone and Maze was lounging nonchalantly against the check-in counter, conversing with an officer. It wasn’t in Maze’s character to be social or charming, but the exchange appeared pretty friendly. With a bashful, but expectant smile, the young man handed Maze a thin stack of files, which she repaid with a suggestive wink before sending him on his way. 

“What’s that all about?” Chloe asked, coming to join her old roommate at the counter.

Maze was leafing through the folders but looked up when Chloe spoke and closed them again, slipping them inside her jacket. “Nothing. New bounties.”

“No, I meant the new recruit,” Chloe laughed. “Somehow I doubt he’ll be able to keep up with you for longer than five minutes.”

“Has to take off the training wheels at some point,” Maze snorted.

“Ha, right.” Chloe replied, shaking her head with feigned disapproval. “So, listen, I was actually looking to talk to you when I saw you walk in.”

“Oh yea, Decker, ready for your turn finally?” Maze said in her quintessential flirtatious manner.

“You wish,” Chloe laughed, “no, but I’m still flattered. You know Sanders has sidelined me on this desk duty nightmare and I’m losing my mind. I was scoping out this case right before he forced me to this hell, and I think there’s something going on here, but…”

Maze interrupted, “But you can't actually do anything about it because you’ve been put in cop Time Out.”

“Yes. LT even forbade other officers from helping me, threatened them with demotion. So, I thought maybe you and I could… collaborate. Bounty hunting is a lot like private investigating, right?”

“Uhh... cute, but no. As a bounty hunter I at least get to use some force, kick a few asses from time to time, rough 'em up a bit. P.I.s are just glorified peeping toms with long distance camera lenses and access to Google.”

Chloe couldn't help the disappointment from flitting across her face; in fact, she’d hoped it was evident enough for Maze to catch. As tough as Maze was, she had a soft spot for the Decker girls and their puppy dog eyes. 

“Look, no self-respecting bounty hunter would lateral into private investigation. The work is boring, the suspects are hardly interesting, and the money is shit. I  _ know _ you can't afford me. But, while I’m not available, I might know a guy who’s been trying to… _ penetrate _ ...that career field.”

“Yeah? I mean, if you say he’s good.” 

“So did you,” Maze muttered under her breath.

“What was that?” 

“Oh, nothing. Well, you’re in luck, Decker. We go way back, like since the beginning of time. Used to work for him for a while, then worked with him, and since stepped out to do my own thing, but we’ve stayed pretty close.” 

The way Maze was studying her, it was like she was expecting a specific reaction from her. It was somewhat unsettling. “What kind of work did you do for him before?” she asked.

“This and that. I was more or less his bodyguard and right hand man, but sometimes other stuff. Bartender. Book-keeper. Security. It depended on the business. But I went off on my own, started bounty hunting. Now his brother does most of that. Hey, speak of the Devil!”

As Maze gestured down the hallway, Chloe’s eyes tracked across the narrow corridor and landed squarely on  _ him. _ There he was; same dashing looks, handsome but wicked smile, soft brown eyes. Those eyes that she was seeing every time her mind wandered were now fixated on hers, wide and expectant. 

Another familiar face followed behind him in his shadow, but imposing in his own right. She’d seen him before but couldn’t place where. As the pair skirted up to Maze, Chloe heard the less familiar face murmur, “Ex-nay on the evil-day.” 

“Hello, again! Detective…” The dashing stranger, crooned as he craned to read the nameplate resting on the edge of her desk, “...Decker.” His gaze lingered, and she realized that they were both staring at the white rose on her desk. Able to see only his profile, she witnessed the soft curve of a smile grace his otherwise sharp features. 

With an exhale, the rigidity in his posture lessened, and he sat quietly for just a moment longer than was normal for the average person, eyes closed like he was hanging on to a memory. Chloe had no explanation for the way her body was betraying her, incapable of avoiding the blush in her cheeks at the realization she’d been caught with it still in her possession. 

“Mr. Morningwood, was it?” Chloe, too, tried to act like she had trouble remembering his name. Standing aside the group, the third in the group chuckled at the only-slightly incorrect and mostly-apt innuendo. 

“Morningstar,” he corrected. “Lucifer Morningstar,” he asserted with an accompanying devilish, but charming grin. He reached for her hand, taking it in his ostensibly to shake, but somehow he made the everyday motion feel more intimate than a mere clasp of palm against palm; his skin a warm, lingering caress against hers.

“Right, Morningstar. I’ll try to remember that,” she replied, smoothly withdrawing her hand from his.

“I’m not easy to forget, yet here we are.” 

As Chloe loosened her grip in his, she noted the odd remark and the nudge Maze gave him in return. 

“Right, so, Mazikeen, we’ve gotten him all squared away. Is there anything else we ought to do while we’re here?” he inquired with the slightest hint of expectation.

“Oh right, so Chloe, how bad do you want that help?”

“I’ll take whatever you can give me right now.”

“Well, Lucifer here is the best I have and has helped on other cases before.” 

“Oh. Nope. No, no. No way. Hell, no.”

“Wow, I counted 4 variations on no and a hell no. Very appropriate, by the way,” Lucifer smiled in the most obnoxiously endearing way, “I assure you, I’m quite good. I’ve got a unique set of skills and about four-year’s experience working with the best detective around.” 

“Like to play cop, do you?” Chloe retorted, taking offense to his comment about working with some other jurisdiction and the suggestion that she and the officers of the LAPD were somehow inferior. Even so, she was surprised at the acerbic tinge to her reply and thoroughly off-put by his wolfish grin when she uttered the words. 

Without missing a beat, he responded, “No, I just like to play in general.”

~o0o~

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer things: we don't own any of the characters, plots are intended to be original, and no copyright infringement is intended. = )


End file.
